


Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone

by LaurenTheBishop



Series: Hermione Granger and the Wizarding World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, F/M, Hogwarts First Year, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Slytherin Pride, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenTheBishop/pseuds/LaurenTheBishop
Summary: She closed her eyes. Freak. The hissing was never far from her mind. Hermione calmed herself and asked the question it all came down to.'On the second path, would people love me there too?' Oh, dearie, if you play your cards right they will throw themselves at your feet.' Hermione nodded.'I see your choice is made. Well, in that case -' "SLYTHERIN!"Hermione Granger is a genius and, with the exeption of making friends, has always been prepared for anything life threw at her. When the Wizarding World comes knocking at her door though, she finds herself uprooted and realizes that there is nothing she could have done to prepare for being sorted in mudblood-hating house, Slytherin.In her quest to make friends with people who hate her for existing, she attaches herself to Draco Malfoy, the most popular boy in their year, and discovers there is much more to him than meets the eye. Nevertheless, proving to be worthy of being his friend and a Slytherin will be no easy task.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I am a very dedicated Dramione shipper. Nevertheless, this will be far from an insta love. In fact in this book there will be hardly any romance at all. I'm planning to rewrite the entire Harry Potter series so this will become quite the undertaken.  
> As for the story, it is basically a story of Hermione being sorted into Slytherin and all the consequences this has for the world and the characters in it. That is not the only thing I changed, but you will figure this out for yourself in the prologue.  
> I hope you enjoy!

**Prologue**

****Narcissa Black Malfoy was a trophy wife with the capacity for empathy of a statue. At least that is what most of the world thought her to be. She supposed she could understand where she had gotten that reputation from. Truth be told, she had always been picky of who she allowed into her heart. During her entire lifetime it had never contained more than four people. During her youth those people had been her two sisters, Bellatrix and Andromeda and her cousins Regulus and Sirius.

  
Her father had simply been too stupid to gain one of the spots in her heart. The brains of the family had apparently all gone to his brother and her uncle, Orion. This made him a bit of a mockery of the Black name. As a child she was more often ashamed of him than the other way around. Her mother was an entirely different matter. While definitely intelligent, she managed to be even colder than Narcissa could ever hope to appear. So even though she respects her mother, Narcissa far from loved her.

After leaving Hogwarts the arrangements inside her heart had been changed entirely. Andromeda had run off with some mudblood and Sirius turned out to be a good-for-nothing idiot. Both facts had made her cry more often than she would like to admit. But by the end of her Hogwarts years she had had Lucius. Both their families had been delighted when they had announced their relationship - They couldn't have thought of a better match themselves! Not to mention she had gained a true friend in Severus Snape, the potion genius with an unfortunate birth.

But in the last 5 months the arrangements in her heart had changed one again. Regulus had disappeared and another had come to take his place. When Narcissa saw her baby for the first time she knew there was no going back. He was perfect. As pale as his father and blessed with his white blond hair. Though none of them would admit it, tears stained the cheeks of all the room's occupants: the godmother, the godfather and the proud parents. None could avert their eyes from the beautiful bundle of joy binding all of them together. Bellatrix was the first to break the sacred silence, though.

"Did it work?" she whispered, her eyes still glued to the baby boy in her younger sister's arms.

Severus cleared his throat at her question and looked away. If only to answer the question hanging on everybody's lips. "There's no way to know. The only signs we could get are unnatural abilities. But even if he doesn't have any, we could have still failed."

"Then what do we do?" Bellatrix started pacing around, eyes wide as saucers, "If the Dark Lord knows ..."

"He will not know," Severus drawled, an almost unnatural calm schooling his face in their eternal scowl, "because we will not tell him."

"You dare question my loyalty to my nephew, my godson, my family?" Bellatrix rasped, the slightly crazed look returning once again. She looked seconds away from whipping out her wand and cursing the potions master into oblivion. Severus Snape was not detered though. Instead he narrowed his eyes dangerously. Narcissa had no doubt he would've continued their petty squabble if not for Lucius' interruption.

"Enough!” Lucius’ voice carried through the room like a gong, quieting the two, “Draco is only a few minutes old and you are already quarreling in front of him. Like it or not you are both his godparents, thus you are expected to be able to work together. You swore you would protect my son. You took the unbreakable vow. There's no turning back now."

At his words Severus scoffed and Bellatrix haughtily turned her head away, but both became deadly quiet. Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a worried glance. Bellatrix' question still hang in the air though. Did it work? Had they fooled the Dark Lord? Had they fooled fate?

Young Draco didn't pay any attention to the commotion around him, though. He was blissfully unaware of the danger surrounding him. Instead he let out his first burb and snuggled closer to his mother, before falling asleep.


	2. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers she's a witch. It goes about as well as expected.

**Chapter 1**

Hermione Granger was brilliant. She had an eidetic memory, not a photographic one, which meant that she was able to vividly recall images from memory after only a few instances of exposure. Not to mention, she had an IQ of 175 points; this made her an official genius. Yes, Hermione Granger was always, and short of a few exceptions, would most likely always be the smartest in the room. She also happened to be eleven years old.

This was a problem for both Hermione and everyone around her; though it was her that suffered the most from it. So the adults had to deal with the fact that a child was more intelligent than them? So they didn’t understand most of the words she used? Well, boohoo! She was one person, one! One person could easily be avoided, could easily be dealt with. Was Hermione supposed to pity them, when she was the one constantly surrounded by idiots?

It wasn’t exactly fun trying to explain the history of the Roman Empire to a bunch of dimwits and don’t even get her started on her peers. She had tried to talk to them, to make friends, as every adult in sight always seemed to be urging her to do, she truly had. Yet each time she had tried to discuss the class system in _Pride and Prejudice_ with them they had just given her a blank stare, sneered and called her a _nerd_. ‘A nerd’ could you believe that? Hermione had to huff each time she even thought of it.

Being the determined, young woman she was, she had not simply given up then. She had instead listened to her parents advice and had discovered what most children her age liked. The answer had been Disney Princesses for the girls and Star Wars for the boys. She had thus seen and studied all these movies and had gone to school one faithful, sunny Monday morning in hopes of impressing her classmates with her newly required knowledge. It had not gone as planned. In fact, when she’d tried to discuss the obvious sexism and racism in all these sets of movies they had still called her a nerd.

That was when the first accident happened. She hadn’t actually meant to set the classroom on fire. She would never! Of course, that hadn’t stop her classmates from blaming her. Which was utterly ridiculous! Yes, she’d been clenching her fists in an attempt to quell her anger and sure; yes, she had been biting her tongue painfully hard, but she hadn’t had any matches nor a lighter so it couldn’t possibly have been her fault. All this begged the question, though, if it hadn’t been her, then who had started the fire? Not to mention, how did it grow at such an impossible rate? The flames had risen right in front of her, on a paper on the desk she’d been facing, and they’d risen seemingly out of nothing. Hermione had pondered about that day for months after it had happened and she had never been able to get an answer. Her inability to solve the mystery had infuriated her like none of her peers had been able to; even though she had been promoted from nerd to freak after the fiery, little incident.

It had taken months before another case had taken place, one completely different from its predecessor. It had been the first time any of the pathetic bullies had dared to physically assault her. She had immediately known something was wrong when a group of seven of her peers had formed a cluster on the playground only two feet away from her. The two girls of the group had been giggling mercilessly and the boys had been talking loudly, making comments ranging from her apparently disgusting looks to her overall freakiness.

She had refused to move from her favorite spot underneath the oak tree though. Instead she’d swallowed back the tears that had threatened to well up and had, determined to ignore them, continued reading. In short, she had been stupid.

She had known groups made people braver, had known that people goaded each other into doing dumb, sometimes cruel things when together – Hello, Hermione, remember the Stanford experiment? – and yet she had still ignored all the signs for the sake of her pride. Her eyes had barely had the time to widen when they had noticed the object coming straight at her face. She had gasped and her entire body had frozen, but the object had never hit her. Instead she had heard a screech coming from the boy standing closest to her, seemingly leading the group. He had been whipping something of his face. ‘An egg’, her brain had reasoned, ‘they’d tried to throw an egg at me’. How the egg had ended up in her bully’s face, she hadn’t known, but she had, nonetheless, had to hide a smug smile as she’d realized that it’d been Parker Abrams, her toughest tormentor, that had been hit.

More accidents had happened, getting even more unexplainable as years passed and one had even involved an exploding banana – Don’t ask – yet Hermione had never managed to solve how it happened. She had theories, of course, but they were each even more inconceivable than the other and most of them surrounding magic; it was ridiculous.

Hermione sighed and put her toothbrush down for the third time that day. She checked her teeth – ‘Beaver teeth’ her classmates always called them – and when she was certain no spots remained, she carefully put everything back on the shelf where it belonged. Then she got out of the bathroom and made her way downstairs with the intention to pick up the book she was using to teach herself German seeing as she was already fluent in French and Dutch. That plan was momentarily put on hold though when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” she yelled since she was almost right in front of the door anyway.

Whatever she had thought she would see when she opened the door, that woman had not been it. Hermione looked her up and down. The woman, who she guessed was approximately 50 years old, was wearing a black turtle neck with a metal emblem on the collar and was largely covered by a dark green coat that reached the ground and had extremely wide sleeves. Her greying hair was in a tight bun and on the tip of her nose she balanced a pair of reading glasses. The most peculiar thing about her appearance though was the large, pointy hat she had in her hands.

In short she looked like a witch.

It made her think of a prank letter she had received a week ago. She had known they had been putting effort in it when she had seen they’d used an actual _owl_ to deliver the letter, but she hadn’t thought her classmates would go as far as to hire an actress to try and fool her. Honestly, what were they thinking, involving her parents. Hermione needed every ounce of her self-discipline to stifle a snort.

“Could I come in, please, Miss. Granger?” the witch asked smiling in what Hermione guessed was an attempt to appear kind, but the natural severity that seemed to radiate of her prevented this from having even the slightest effect.

Hermione blinked for a second, keeping her face stoic, as she decided what to do. Then she yelled: “Mom! Dad!” at the top of her lungs.

While she was convinced this was the doing of her peers, this woman could still be a kidnapper for all she knew; better to yell first and apologize later. When the woman didn’t make any move to grab her she added in her best don’t-mind-me-I’m-just-a-little-kid voice: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m not allowed to invite strangers in.”

This didn’t seem to bother the woman; not a pedophile then – _Why would a pedophile want her of all children anyway?_ –, well that was something at least. Hermione continued to study her as she waited for her responds. She had to fight as to not narrow her eyes as she did as well; it was a natural response when examining something new, but Hermione believed opting for an innocent expression would be smarter in the long run.

Hermione’s musings were interrupted by the woman’s voice as she said: “Of course, not. I shall just…” her voice trailed off for a second as she looked over her head. Hermione turned her head just as she felt a warm hand be placed on her shoulder and saw that both her father and mother were regarding the strange woman with frowns on their faces. Interesting, it seemed as if her parents didn’t know her either nor did they trust her if the subtle protectiveness of their stance was anything to go by. Definitely an actress then.

The witchlike woman didn’t let this deter her though as after a momentarily pause she simply continued speaking: “I suppose I won’t have to wait after all. Good evening, Mr. and Miss Granger, allow me to introduce myself. I am professor Minerva McGonagall and I have rather urgent news concerning your daughter to discuss with you.”

That last bit of information had Hermione raising her eyebrows; so the actress admitted this was about her. The plot thickened. Her mom, ever the gracious host, only let the weird woman’s appearance stun her for a second before she politely said: “Of course, professor, please do come in.”

Her dad on the other hand merely gave the woman the expected smile, before he went out of the doorway so the woman could walk in. Hermione didn’t miss the way he pulled her with him, while her mother kept the woman busy with her idle chatting and led her to the sitting room. It seemed that he, unlike her mother, sensed that this woman meant far from well.

“Would you like some tea? I’m afraid we weren’t expecting company so we don’t have any at the ready. My husband was just starting on dinner, you see, but I’m sure we could whip something up.”

“If you would be so kind,” the strange woman answered as her mom continued to smile. Hermione supposed her response was generally considered gracious, but the woman’s tone held a certain cold edge she had never heard before. Not to mention the way she kept eying her with a curious expression that rivalled her own was rather unnerving.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” her mom laughed amiably, “Wendell, would you please make some tea?”

She didn’t need to look at her dad’s face to know how strained his smile had become. He really didn’t want leave her alone with such a strange person. Her mother wouldn’t be giving him a choice, though; she arched her eye brow in a manner that Hermione easily translated as ‘Now!’. Hermione took the hand placed on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze, all the while smiling up at him. Her little gesture told her father all he needed to know: she had this. Her dad let out a small sigh, evidence of his reluctance to leave, and then responded in a pleasant manner: “Of course, my dear. Do you have any preferences, professor?”

Hermione had hoped the witchlike woman had missed these little gestures, but she noticed her hawklike stare was once again fixated on her. This woman’s gaze seemed almost designed to intimidate, but, while hers was most likely the best Hermione had ever encountered, she was not the first adult to have tried this on her. If the strange woman wanted her to feel small, she had another thing coming; Hermione Granger did not bow down to anyone. So instead of crimping in on herself, as she was sure any other child would’ve done, she stiffened her back and held her head high, refusing to break the staring contest they appeared to have started.

“I’d be most pleased with Camille tea,” the woman said casually looking up. The amusement that colored her voice annoyed Hermione to no end, “if that’s a possibility.”

They sat down, her mother sat on the sofa next to the strange woman and Hermione on the armchair, which was conveniently situated farthest from the strange woman, in an attempt to relax her dad. Personally, she didn’t see what he found so dangerous about this woman; of course she was rather weird and mysterious but she wasn’t exactly threatening either. Hermione noticed she even looked a tad uncomfortable; though she supposed that was only natural seeing as her mother had run out of subjects to chat on, leaving the room’s occupants subjected to a rather awkward silence. This silence wasn’t conquered until her father came back from the kitchen with a platter on which he had placed a nice smelling teapot and four teacups.

Once her father had poured all the cups full and had distributed them, he cleared his throat. Then he, never one to beat around the bush, started: “So you told us you had urgent news you wished to discuss with us, news concerning our daughter.”

“Yes,” the weirdly dressed woman responded, taking a sip of her tea, “I’ll get right to it then. First off, I’d like to inquire as to what you did with the letter sent to you a few week ago, a letter with a red seal on the envelop.”

_Bollocks!_ Hermione closed her eyes as she thought about that stupid letter. As soon as the witchlike professor mentioned it, she knew the conversation wasn’t going to go well for her. Sooner or later they were going to ask what she did with it and more importantly why. Which was undoubtedly the actress’ plan all along: reveal the extent of her classmates cruelties and humiliate her in the process. Her peers must have really wanted her gone. They probably figured that if her parents knew she was bullied, they’d send her to another school. Problem was: they were most likely right about that. This irked Hermione for several reasons: One, since when were her peers that intelligent and two, she refused to be beaten by a bunch of make-up and car obsessed children!

“What letter?” her father barked with narrow eyes and, she admitted, rather rudely. It caused her mother to intervene quickly.

“Wendell!” her mother scolded warningly, before turning back to the professor, “I’m afraid we haven’t received any letters such as the one you’re describing.”

“Oh,” the actress arched an eyebrow in an annoyingly all-knowing way, “I am sure it was delivered, though.”

The woman then turned her head to look at Hermione and gave her an almost accusing look. Arching her brow even higher than before, her entire demeanor seemed to be commanding one simple thing: talk. It made Hermione purse her lips stubbornly. Another staring-contest was held and Hermione absolutely refused to give in. She would not let this weird woman beat her, not in her own house for God’s sake.

“Hermione?” her mom questioned kindly and _bugger all_ that wasn’t fair! She had to respond now.

So Hermione pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at the woman. She did speak, but refused to break eye contact to do so. She would not be mocked and certainly not by an actress such as her. With a slight huff she courtly said: “I did receive a letter.”

“And what, if I may ask, did you do with it?” She had to give it to her, the witchlike woman maintained the exact tone as before, officially polite with an ice cold edge, but she would not budge.

Hermione had no doubt the actress had noticed the irritation that had briefly danced across her face, a silly mistake if there ever was one. So she decided to play her hand. Using her usual tactic for getting rid of adults, she let her intelligence shine through. The changes in her expression were so subtle – She’d practiced this in front of a mirror and refused to be ashamed of it. – most adults didn’t even notice it, but Hermione was certain this woman did. She arched an eyebrow, much in the same manner the actress had done before, - Let’s see how far I can push you. – and then quickly quipped: “I burned it.”

“Without telling anyone?” the professor immediately threw back and Hermione was struck with the certainty that this was most certainly not an actress. She was simply too good. Which begged the question what was she doing in her home?

“Yes,” Hermione couldn’t help the slight bite that slipped into her tone as she spoke. She didn’t have anything to hold on to anymore: she had no clue why the woman was here or who she actually was and she was still revealing things Hermione preferred would stay hidden. She was just grateful her parents had decided not to interfere, opting to study her interaction with the woman instead.

It seemed her usual tactics weren’t going to work with this woman and while that was incredibly annoying, she had suspected as much. Silence was a weapon, it unnerved people much like an unfaltering gaze did. Lawyers sometimes even kicked their client under the table to shut them up. The professor, however, seemed immune to it all.

Normally this would be when Hermione would start rambling about a subject her opponent had no chance of following such as the greenhouse effect; seeing as everyone seemed to be complaining and whining about it, but no one had any idea what it actually was. She didn’t, though. The option occurred to her, of course, and was quite tempting if she were honest, but Hermione found herself to be too curious for that. The letter, the owl and the professor all seemed to be part of some sort of puzzle and Hermione was convinced that if the woman just gave her a few more piece, she would be able to solve it. So Hermione decided to give the professor the benefit of the doubt.

“You didn’t think it strange that it was delivered by an _owl_?” the woman said– Professor McGonagall, Hermione. She should really start to call her by her name. She could hear intelligible sounds of astonishments coming from her parents, which had obviously been the woman’s goal. Hermione had to clench her jaw to keep from losing her temper.

“Owl?” her parents echoed dumbfounded, but Hermione paid them no mind; this was between her and the professor.

“No,” her voice was harder than she had intended and she could have cursed herself for it. As much as she wished the professor had missed it, she recognized the emotion that softened the woman’s expression: pity. Hermione fumed. She didn’t know how the woman knew what she had been thinking, but she certainly didn’t need any pity or sympathy or whatever this particular adult liked to call it, just like she didn’t need her peers.

“I see,” the woman paused in a way that told Hermione she was processing the new information, before she decided what to do, which in this case meant looking away and continuing to talk, “Well, I took the liberty of taking another with me. It is not terribly uncommon for muggleborn students to get rid of their letters.”

The professor broke eye contact first. Technically this should’ve meant she had won, but Hermione didn’t feel like a winner at all.

“Muggleborn?” her parents repeated once again and Hermione finally focused on them again; she had almost forgotten they were in the room at all. Her father had a look of pure disbelieve on his face, while her mother just seemed confused.

“Yes, muggleborn,” the professor confirmed evenly, while rummaging through a little purse, “Now as I’ve said, my name is professor Minerva McGonagall. I have, however, failed to mention what it is I teach. I believe I should remedy that. I’m the deputy headmistress of and teach Transfigurations at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you, Hermione Granger are a witch.”

Flashes of accidents, things she couldn’t explain sped through her mind. She had been suppressing them during the entire conversation, but the faithful words ‘You’re a witch’ had broken through all her defenses, all her mental barriers and had left her a vulnerable, numb mess. Screaming ‘Impossible!’ was her first instinct, but her mind hadn’t quite caught up with her body yet.

The professor pulled her hand out of the bag and offered her an envelope, saying: “I believe this is yours?”

Hermione blinked. As fast and clever as she was, she needed some time processing things. If this wasn’t an actress, if this woman genuinely believed what she was saying … Hermione didn’t get the chance to make up her mind, or move for that matter, because her father chose that exact moment to lose it.

“Alright, that is enough!” he roared furiously, “We’ve gone along with this charade long enough for politeness sake, but I will not just stand here and hear you insult my daughter! I want you out of my home and I want you out now!”

“Wendell,” her mom said quietly trying to grab her father’s attention.

“Don’t ‘Wendell’ me, Monica! Not right now!”

“Wendell!” she snapped forcefully, finally making him turn around, a sneer on his face.

When he finally looked at her, she tiredly whispered: “It would explain so much.”

And it broke Hermione’s heart. She wasn’t a very good daughter, she knew that. For all the intelligence she liked to preach about, she was incapable of making someone like her and it hurt. A normal child wasn’t so much to ask for, was it? Yet her parents hadn’t even gotten that. Now this woman here wanted to tell them that she wasn’t just a socially inept monster child, she was also a witch, an actual _freak_ of nature; no wonder her father was pissed. Hermione swallowed back tears.

Hermione could sense that her father was about to go off again and flinched. Her father normally was a very calm man and to hear him screaming like that unsettled Hermione. She found herself talking before he could, though: “Can you prove it?”

Her voice was voice small, yet it quieted the entire room. She had been staring at her knees since her father had begun his tirade, trying her best to not let them see her face. Hearing herself speak without wavering, though, felt like a pat on the shoulder and she quickly started regaining her confidence.

“Can you prove it?” she repeated, her voice was a clear and strong, with maybe a hint of mockery in it, this time and she was looking at the professor instead of her knees. Her spirit still felt like it was on the brink of collapsing after the blows each person in the room had struck at it.

She adjusted her stance, straight back and head upright, so that it radiated her normal confidence and, as she waited for the professor to answer, she started to build herself up again. She objectively knew her parents loved her; she had analyzed this and had come to the conclusion that if they didn’t, they would have most likely dropped her off at some orphanage or would at least not tell her they did as much. They didn’t like that she was so socially awkward, but it was because they loved her and didn’t want her to be lonely; they told her this every month. They were incredibly proud of her intelligence, they simply wished she didn’t have to suffer for it. This they told her every week. ‘Well’, Hermione thought, ‘it looks like those how-to-raise-your-child books her mom insisted on reading payed off after all.’

The professor nodded solemnly, her face as stoic as ever. Even though the fire place was burning and warming the room, Hermione shivered with dread. Her parents had both gone quiet, her father had even sat back down. It offered little comfort. The professor pulled out a wooden stick and Hermione swallowed anxiously as she pointed the tip of the stick to the porcelain teacup. Then she whispered: “ _Avifors_ ”

The teacup started to change. Suddenly, the handle detached itself from the rest of the cup and split in two. The cup grew fragile legs and she noticed a head was starting to form. Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat as the teacup turned into a beautiful, purely white swallow. She was transfixed as it looked at her, cocking its head to the side. It chirped and a tear escaped.

“My God,” she didn’t know which of her parents said it, maybe it was both. She didn’t care either way, too captivated by the bird to look at anything else.

The shiver from before the spell seemed insignificant next to the freezing cold she felt then. Hermione closed her eyes in an effort to stop them from leaking, but she couldn’t even manage to do that. She wanted to ignore this, to go to bed and pretend it’d never happened, anything just so she could hang onto the little bit of normality she still had. 

“Please, leave,” Hermione whispered quietly. It was the second time she had reacted without thinking that night but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She needed to think, to discuss this with her parents and to get a plan of action.

“Very well. I’m afraid I will have to come by again though, if only to clarify as to what you plan to do from this point on.” Hermione kept her eyes closed, refusing to look at the woman, but heard her stand up and walk to the door. “Goodnight, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded, unsure of whether the woman could see it or not and frankly not caring in slightest. She only opened her eyes again after she heard the door slam shut. Her parents sat huddled together on the sofa, her dad stroking her mom’s back. She wanted to run to them, bury herself in their embrace and believe them when they told her everything was alright, but just as she was about to stand up her father spoke.

His voice was grave and tired as he said: “Hermione, go to your room.”

Her mouth fell open; he wouldn’t even look at her. Her mother tried to protest, and, while her father cut her mom off before she could way much, Hermione could hear tears in her voice. Her gut turned as she ran out the door, onto the stairs and into her room. She dove into her bed, crushed her pillow to her chest and let herself sob. She tried to block out the shouts she heard coming from her parents as they fought, but each made her flinch. As she lay under the covers, still freezing, she was certain she’d never felt so lonely before. For the first time in months, Hermione cried herself to sleep, thinking one word over and over again: _freak_.


	3. The Witch

Something was sticking to her face. It was sticking to her face and absolutely refusing to come off. Granted she hadn’t tried to make it with anything other than willpower yet, but couldn’t the blasted thing take a hint? She let out a soft mewl, if only to voice her displeasure, and was surprised by how much it hurt. Her hand instinctively flew to her throat, drawing soft, soothing circles on her skin in an attempt to chase the soreness away.

She rubbed her throat until her annoyance finally started to outweigh the pain and she lifted her hand to her face to peel whatever was glued to it off. Hair, it was her hair that was sticking to her face. Hermione felt her brows curve into a frown. Why would her hair be sticking to her face? Unless her face had been wet before she fell asleep, unless… she’d been crying again. Even though her throat felt as dry as sandpaper, Hermione forced herself to swallow. She may not have opened her eyes yet, but Hermione was most certainly wide awake and already angry. She hadn’t cried herself to sleep in months! Months! What was it that had made her –

Memories from the night before crashed into her like a tornado: a tall, grey woman with a pointed head, a beautiful bird shattering her life and her father’s voice. _Go to bed, Hermione_. The images danced around her brain, taunting her, to the tune of an entire class of children yelling ‘freak, freak’ over and over again. ‘Yes,’ Hermione thought as she fought the tears that threatened to well op at the mere memories, ‘that’d do it.’

Gradually she opened her eyes, wincing as light hit her face. She then reluctantly pulled herself upright and peeled the last strands of her face. A deep sigh escaped her as she rubbed her eyes. She was just so tired, so drained. Well no one ever said crying wasn’t exhausting. She would give anything to hide under her covers some more, but that wasn’t possible. Taking a weary look at the electronic clock on her nightstand, she saw it was already five after eight. Another sigh. Time to face the music.

Even though her muscles protested against any and every movement, Hermione got out of bed. Without her intense fury or fear, she just felt empty, empty and lonely. She numbly made her way to the bathroom across the hall, grabbing the first t-shirt, pants and underpants of each pile in her closet on the way. She took a shower and brushed her teeth on autopilot, not even bothering to check her gums after the two minutes were over.  

Her lips pursed from their own accord though as she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy. The skin underneath them was red and swollen. Her parents would be hard pressed not to notice that. 'Well that would not do' she thought decidedly. She grabbed the bin, placing it in front of the sink and climbed on top of it with practiced ease. Even standing on top of the bin Hermione still wasn't at eyelevel with the shelve of the cabinet she needed. Reaching blindly into the cabinet Hermione platter the surface of until she finally found the round object she'd been looking for. Thank God, her mum always puts everything back in its place.

Hermione dapped the brush into the powder scooping up a generous amount of her mum's make-up and easily applied it to her face. She double checked her face and then shut the little box with a satisfying click. There, that takes care of that problem. Her parents wouldn't notice a thing. Giving herself an encouraging nod, Hermione finally descended from the bin. Then she made sure to put the bin back in its usual place next to the toilet, before going downstairs.

As soon as she took the first step down the stairs, Hermione was hit by the mouthwatering aroma of pancakes. There were pancakes? Why were there pancakes? The grove between Hermione’s brows deepened as she slowly continued down the stairs. Instinctively cautious, she made her way to the wide open kitchen door, making sure to peek around the corner before even considering walking in. What she saw, forced Hermione to fight against the distinct urge to let her mouth fall open. The scene that played out in front of eyes simply did not compute with her brain. Both her parents were up and about, talking, laughing and cooking. Her father was manning the stove, flipping pancakes every few minutes and her mother was setting the table, humming a song underneath her breath as she did. It all seemed so out of place; it almost made Hermione wonder if she had imagined everything the night before. Almost, that is.

Unnerved by the entire situation, Hermione cleared her throat, loudly announcing her presence as if it would make the entire scene disappear. It did not. Instead her parents both looked up, greeting her with wide smiles.

Balancing three plates in one hand, her mother used the other to draw her in for a hug. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

Her mother sent an expectant look her way, completed with a subtle tilt of her head, and her father looked up from the stove in order to catch her reaction. Hermione was too stunned to do anything but nod, though.

After a few painfully silent seconds her mom finally spoke again: “Well, why don’t you sit down, Hermione. I’m sure the pancakes will be ready soon.”

“Oh, yes, one pancake coming right up!” Her father let out a laugh so awkward it actually made Hermione cringe as she continued to nod.

Swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat Hermione sat down on her usual chair. She tried to stifle the urge to sneak glances at her parents as she was overly aware of them watching her every move. Eventually though she decided that she was being ridiculous – again – and let her eyes zero in on the people working their way around their kitchen. Immediately she started to notice little thing, little things that were just off.

You see, her dad's smile was a bit strained as if it could turn into a grimace at any given moment and her mother's seemed to almost be made of plastic. Her father's shoulders were hunched and her mother's body was so tense it trembled. Hermione's eyes widened as she recognized their behavior. Of course, she had seen it countless times before. Memories flashed before Hermione's eyes: her father forgetting their wedding anniversary, her mother getting fined for driving too fast again, that time when they told her the goldfish had died, ... It all added up. Her parents felt guilty.

'As they should' a snide voice deep within Hermione sneered. She couldn't help but agree with it.

Hermione straightened her back as her mother sat down beside her. Her mom gave her a warm smile but Hermione was distracted by her father, who came along the table pan in hand.

"There!" he grinned, "Two pancakes for my two favorite girls."

Softly chuckling her mother responded: "I'm sure it'll be delicious, Wendell. Don't you think, Hermione?"

Both her parents stared at her with nervous smiles. She could almost hear the way they were urging her to speak, to give them a sign that they were forgiven, inside their heads. It was blatantly written on their faces after all.

Still, Hermione wasn't sure what to do. She felt the distinct urge to tell them to cut the crap and tell her what was what, but she doubted that would go over well however guilty they may have felt. Moreover, Hermione simply didn't know what they wanted from her. She'd always been abnormal, a freak, but now someone had placed a name upon it: 'witch'. How was she supposed to react to this? Hermione hadn't known the night before and she didn't know now either.

She realized she was fidgeting with the hem of her shirt and abruptly let go of the fabric before she quietly answered: "Sure thing"

'Not a very eloquent response,' Hermione admitted. Her dad cracked another painfully awkward smile before he finally sat down. They sat in silence. The tension was so suffocating, it was almost tangible. Hermione didn't even dare look up as she ate and she had a sneaking suspicion her parents didn't either. That is until her father decided to break the silence by clearing his throat.

"Hermione..."

Hermione winced; the sound seemed to echo throughout the kitchen. Forced to participate in the upcoming conversation, Hermione slowly lifted her head.

Dread pooled together in the pit of her stomach. Desperate thoughts raced through her mind: 'It's not my fault! I can't help it! I promise I'll be normal from now on!'

"Yes, daddy?" she answered with as much innocence she could muster.

"Hermione, after you'd gone to bed yesterday" - had been sent to your room without a backwards glance - "your mother and I, we talked" - argued - "about what that, eh, well, that woman" - witch - "said,"

It was strange seeing her normally composed father shift nervously on his chair. He cleared his throat again and shot her mother a pointed look, as if to say 'Your turn'. Her mom didn't seem too happy with that, though she immediately gave Hermione a smile.

Then she continued the speech as if she'd been the one speaking all along: "And we realized that this wasn't a decision we could make. Now, don't get us wrong, your father and I are completely blown away." She continued to maintain eye contact with Hermione even as she shook her head as if either action would emphasize her point. "Not only are we not properly informed, it is also not our place." 

Hermione's eyes widened at the insinuated behind those words. Her parents had always given her a lot of leeway, deeming her intelligent enough to make her own decisions - which she was -, but... No, no but. It simply hadn't occurred to her that she would actually have to choose whether she would go or not. She had been so fixated on the fact that she was a, a witch that she hadn't even considered it.

"Luckily," her father decided to dive back into the conversation, "the professor left us a note. She's going to come by again next week. That way we have some time to think, wrap our heads around things."

Her dad grinned at her nodding, looking her intently in the eye. Hermione understood the unspoken message perfectly. 'Please, smile back' it read. She didn't, though. Hermione remained motionless on her chair.

"We'll probably get some more information then," her mom added after a another few minutes of silence.

They kept staring at her, waiting for her reaction. They were disappointed. Hermione merely nodded. She was thorn. On one hand, the thought of having that strange woman in her house again was making her physically sick. On the other hand, though, Hermione was a little curious. The promise of an explanation was a sweet one and it had ignited that ever present curiosity within her.

Hermione swallowed. She doubted she could really get out of it. Of course, technically she could. It wasn't that hard. All she would have to do was get the waterworks out and look a little pathetic. She tried not to do that to her parents, though. She respected them too much to manipulate them like that. It is why that tactic was strictly reserved for emergencies. Technicalities weren't the problem at all; it were the practicalities that were forcing her to go through with this. The accidents had to stop. Hermione felt she owed the people around her at least that much. The fact that it would make her life an infinity easier was a rather nice bonus as well. 'Yes,' she decided, 'I'll see what this witch has to say.'

Taking a look at her empty plate, Hermione asked: "May I be excused."

"Yes, yes," her father seem surprised at the sound of her voice, "of course you can."

Giving her parents one last curt nod, Hermione stood up and walked back to her room.

Hermione spent the next few days in a haze. She barely said a word to her parents, barely ate and barely slept. She simply felt numb. It was worrying her parents. As much as she ignored them, she wasn't obvious to the concerned glances they shot her when they thought she wasn't looking. They were treating her cautiously as well, as if she could explode at any given moment. They were wrong though. In fact Hermione had calmed down considerably since their little chat in the kitchen. All that was left was indecision.

Standing in the bathroom for the third time that day, Hermione realized that, with the exception of her accidents, she had never had a problem like this before, one she couldn’t solve. It was aggravating. Hermione furrowed her brows as she brushed her teeth. That indecision was exactly the root of her problem. Fact of the matter was, Hermione didn't have a clue as to what to do and she wasn't too proud to admit she wasn't handling it well. Her frown deepened as she spit the toothpaste out. Her extensive knowledge of basically everything usually prepared her for any given situation, but Hermione found herself at loss as she contemplated this situation. It wasn't a nice feeling.

After gulping down a glass of water, Hermione checked her pearl white gums in her reflection, carefully inspecting them. Each time she tried to think out a plan of action she drew the same conclusion: she did not have enough information to make a decision. This unfortunately meant that she would have to wait for the professor to return, seeing as there were hardly decent books on witchcraft in her local library. She had checked. This unfortunate fact never failed to bring a scowl to Hermione's face. If she'd waited for adults to teach her anything, she would've been as stupid as her classmates and she found it utterly ridiculous that she had to start now.

Letting out a slightly indignant huff, Hermione left the bathroom. Luckily, the waiting would finally be coming to an end. The professor was coming back at twelve o’clock so Hermione would make sure she stood before the door by at eleven fifty sharp. This meant she still had twenty minutes to prepare for what would most likely be the most important meeting of her life as of yet. Running down the stairs, Hermione went back to the kitchen table to check if everything was still where she’d left it. She carefully expected all the items.

On her place lay the list with questions she’d been preparing during the week since the witch’s last visit – when in doubt look for a book or make a list – and a brand new note book accompanied by two pens, one for common use and one spare. Pursing her lips she critically inspected whether they were both still full. Of course, this wasn’t the first time she’d done that that day. In fact, Hermione was quite sure this was the sixth time. ‘ _Neurotic._ ’ Hermione felt a dark scowl take over her previously inquisitive face as she thought of what her teachers called it.

‘No time for that!’ she reminded herself and did her best to shrug it off. Before she could start on the second, spare, pen though, her father’s baritone voice penetrated her inward musings.

“You okay, sweetheart?” his said. His normally gruff voice sounded softer. ‘Probably from all the worrying’, Hermione decided.

“Of course, daddy,” She twirled around, a ten kilowatt smile painted firmly on her face, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

If the sarcastic edge to her voice had been just slightly less veiled, it could have almost been interpreted as a rhetorical question. Though if her father noticed he noticed the little edge, he let it slide.

“Well, honey,” her father took a step closer, “this is kind of a big deal. All this stuff about magic.”

Truthfully, Hermione didn’t understand what he expected. For her to magically change her mind? That had never happened before and Hermione was quite sure hell would freeze over first. They had had this conversation about six times these last two days.

“I see,” she drew out the e-sound, admittedly a little mockingly, “As you can see though I am quite well prepared.”

Ever since she had informed them she would be having her conversation with the professor alone they had been alternating between who would try to convince her otherwise. They had tried every method in the book as well, good cop, bad cop and so on. None of it had worked though and none of it would. This meeting would not be like the last one. Not at all.

“Of course, of course, pumpkin,” he answered shaking his head with a wry smile on his face, “You always are. However, that doesn’t mean you have to do this alone. Your mum and I are here for you. I know how smart you are, no one denies that. Asking for help won’t make anyone think any less on you. So just let us be there for you. It not like we don’t have any questions of our own.”

His gentle eye and warm hand on her shoulder almost made her soften. Almost. She had had a week to gather her wits and to prepare for this – even though she hadn’t been quite sure how exactly she was supposed to do that – and she would be damned if she was going to let that woman walk over her again. She was a genius for goodness’ sake! She hardly needed to hide behind her mother’s skirt! She had questions to ask and a witch to grill; her parents would only get in the way. Not to mention, as much as she loved her daddy, the pet names were becoming rather annoying.

“I gave you guys three days to add your questions to the list,” she reminded him, promptly showing him the ink covered paper, “I’ve already promised to give you a complete recap of everything that was said and it’s not like I won’t be taking notes”

She gesturing to the notebook that was neatly placed on the table. In truth she didn’t actually need written notes since her eidetic memory allowed her to vividly remember everything she ever experienced, but Hermione enjoyed having a backup.

Her father sighed gravely and Hermione knew he’d finally given up. “I know, I know, I just don’t like leaving my little girl alone with some woman we barely know. So remember. If anything happens, just..”

“… scream as loud as you can and run to the door. Your mom and I will be in the living room and we’ll be there immediately,” she finished for him with amused, little smile, “You told me, daddy.”

He cheekily face palmed himself, laughing to himself: “Right, Wendell, don’t repeat things to the genius child. She didn’t get her memory from you.”

Hermione chuckled as well as she checked her watch, a simple pink one thank you very much. Her mother wanted to get her one with ‘hello, kitty’ on it. What was she? Ten? Hermione shuddered to remember that particular battle. Thank God, she had won it!

“I’ll be fine, daddy. Now-” her voice trailed off and her eyes widened, “For goodness’ sake, it’s already five to twelve! I should’ve been standing in front of the door five minutes ago!”

She took two seconds to carefully place the notebook back on the table –she has never been sloppy and she wasn’t going to start now – before hurrying off to the door. Rolling her eyes at her father’s chuckled ‘I love you too, sweetie’, she came to a screeching halt in front of the big, wooden door. Once there she took a minute to catch her breath and another to make sure she was presentable: she flipped her hair over her shoulder and smoothened out her fringe, before straightening her back. She blinked a few times, silently going over her list of questions once again.

Then, when she was sure everything was as it should be, she checked her watch again and pursed her lips in dismay as she saw there were still two minutes left before the professor would arrive. That’s the thing with punctuality: you end up waiting. These two, dreadfully long, minutes were spent impatiently tapping her foot. This was an admittedly annoying habit of hers which had led to one of her mother’s favorites nicknames for her: little Thumper. It was also a habit she was trying to quit. She immediately stilled her foot, though not without a little huff. Instead she opted to check her watch again. She watched as the hands of her pink watch moved at a painstakingly slow pace. That is until they finally both hit the purple twelve at the top.

A bright smile lit up her face and she quickly made a grab for the doorknob, throwing the door open with a loud slam.

“Please do come in, professor McGonagall,” she chirped happily, moving out of the way so the professor wouldn’t have any trouble getting inside.

The professor merely raised one unimpressed eyebrow and lowered the hand that had been about to knock on the door.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she responded as she took a big step inside, ducking her head just a little so her pointed hat didn’t fall off as she passed through the door.

Her long, baggy clothes swept majestically over the floor and Hermione did her best not to step on them as she attempted to pass the professor by so she could lead her to the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione informed the professor as she guided the older woman down the hall, “Everything has been set up in the kitchen. Also, my parent will not be attending our little meeting. They’ve agreed to wait in the living room.”

“I see,” the professor answered noncommittally.

“Please sit down, professor,” Hermione said cordially, gesturing to the seat opposing hers before she sat down herself.

When they were both well and truly seated, Hermione folded her legs, lay one hand on her list and opened her pen with a decisive thud. Then, before the professor could even think of opening her mouth, Hermione took the lead with a little smirk: “Now, let’s get started , shall we?”

The stammering little girl from their previous conversation was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Hermione fired question after question, scribbling down notes at what she was sure was record speed. The professor politely answered each of her, admittedly many, questions and Hermione learnt more about the magic world than she had thought possible. Even though Hermione had spent a great number of time imagining this world of witches and wizards, it still astonished her how much of an actual world it was.

It was governed by a ministry just as muggle – a term which apparently means non-magical people -  Brittan. They had their own currency: there are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, and 29 Knuts in a Sickle, meaning there are 493 Knuts to a Galleon and yes, you could trade muggle money for wizarding money. This could be done at Gringotts, the wizarding bank, which was run by Goblins. What are Goblins, you ask. Well, they are very tiny but also very intelligent magical creatures. The professor was afraid she didn’t know exactly how many races of magical creatures there were, but she doubted they were all already discovered. Hermione was welcome to ask the ‘Care of Magical Creatures’ professor, professor Kettleburn, or even Rebeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper.

They had finally arrived to the crux of the matter, Hogwarts. The school dominated most of the conversation; though not for lack of interest in the rest of the magical world. Hermione learnt that Hogwarts was a boarding school in Scotland and a castle. This was built over a thousand years ago by the founders that gave their names to the Hogwarts houses, because apparently all the students were divided into four houses as soon as they arrive. These houses were called: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

Hermione couldn’t help but scoff as she heard the students were sorted based on their character traits though. They were growing children; they had only just started developing their personalities. How could anyone possibly discover what they would turn into? True, this may work for Hermione seeing as she was far more evolved than the rest of her generation, but she was hardly the standard. Most children her age were idiots; though Hermione had high hopes that her peers would one day develop in decent, contributing members of society.

It is only when she voiced her opinion that professor McGonagall explained that the sorting hat decided which house the students would develop best, where they would shine, where they would thrive. Hat? Yes, hat. The students were sorted by a hat which originally belonged to Godric Gryffindor and was later infused with the magic of all the four founders to do just that: sort. Hermione couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Leaving the fate of your students over to a hat? Hermione found it completely ridiculous, but she supposed that was magic.

After she had absorbed that piece of information though, she started asking the finer questions. During which exact year was Hogwarts built? How long did the founders actually teach at the school? Who started teaching after them. Who’s teaching now for that matter. And what sort of certification do you need to teach at this school. Not mention what do you actually teach. You said you taught Transfigurations, but what exactly does that entail? And what about other courses, what about math? What does the curriculum consist of in general? And what about…

“Miss. Granger,” the professor interrupted her not unkindly but with a small frown on her face, “I’m afraid I do not have the answer to the majority of those questions. I can only advise you to buy a copy of ‘Hogwarts a History’ and look it up.”

The hand that had been furiously taking notes as she held her little question tirade stilled then, along with the rest of her body. Slowly she looked up. “’Hogwarts a History’” she repeated before inquiring: “Is that a book?”

“Why, yes it is,” she answered a small smile spreading across the professor’s face for the first time since she walked through the door.

Hermione’s entire being lit up as she processed this. There was a book. Finally something familiar, something she could work with. “I see. And where would I be able to find this book?”

The smile on the professor’s face grew wider as she answered: “Why Diagon Alley of course. It’s one of the busiest shopping streets in wizarding Brittan. If you were to choose to go to Hogwarts, this is where I would take you to buy all the necessities that you can find on the back of your Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

“And the curriculum?” she asked again. It was a rather important question after all and one that would surely play a decisive part in her decision.

“Well…” the professor explained that there were seven core classes each student had to take until their fifth year. These classes were Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions and Transfiguration. At the start of their third year the students were also allowed to pick two electives. The names of the classes mostly spoke for themselves, but the professor suggested that, if Hermione was interested, she could always take a look at her schoolbooks before school started. That is if she chose to go, of course.

“… and I do hope you decide to further your studies at Hogwarts, Miss Granger. You have a fine mind, I can tell. It’d be a shame if the wizarding world were to lose you.”

The professor was looking intently at her as if she could mentally transmit her sincerity. In fact Hermione wasn’t entirely sure she couldn’t, because she didn’t have a shred of doubt that the witch meant every word. Being appreciated, complimented, felt nice.

Glancing at the paper Hermione had been steady crossing out questions on since the beginning of the meeting, the professor asked kindly and, Hermione thought, slightly amused: “Will that be all; Miss Granger?”

“No,” Hermione said steadily, “I still have one question left.”

Slowly Hermione lay her pen back on the table and let go of the notebook she’d been clutching. She deliberately folded her hands in her lap. There was one question she hadn’t written down, one question which was perhaps the most important of all.

She cleared her throat before hesitantly asking: “These students, will they be like me?” 

For the first time since she had sat down the professor faltered, for the first time she looked unsure, uncomfortable even and while Hermione picked up on it, she could not explain it. A shiver went down her back as she waited for the professor to speak.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth at least twice before eventually deciding on: “There are a number of muggleborn witches and wizards that join Hogwarts each year so I can assure you that you will not be the only student new to our world.”

“Yes, but what about the others?” Hermione challenged, “Have they had _incidents_ like me?”

Apparently comfortable again, the professor didn’t hesitate to raise an eyebrow as she answered: “If you are referring to accidental magic, then yes. Every magical child has burst of magic they can’t control. It’s completely normal.”

 _Normal_. That was one word that had never before been associated with her and certainly not with the accidents she caused.

“Normal” she whispered so softly the professor didn’t even hear it. She quite liked the sound of it, normal. Much better than weirdo or freak. ‘Yes,’ Hermione thought while a soft smile appeared on her lips, ‘that works.’

Breaking out of her musings, Hermione turned her full attention back on the older woman: “Thank you for your time, professor. I don’t believe I have any more questions at this moment.”

“Very well,” the professor said standing up again, “I shall take my leave then.”

“Of course,” Hermione jumped out of her chair and walked down the hall, all too aware of the witch following her. She opened the door and made what she hoped was a graceful hand gesture as she let the woman out. Professor McGonagall walked out with a court nod in her general direction. Before she could close the door though, the professor spoke again: “I will send an owl in exactly two day. Please give him a paper with your answer on it.”

“I,” Hermione hesitated; while the professor had explained how owls delivered the wizarding post, she still didn’t have any practical experience, “certainly will, professor.”

“Oh and Miss Granger, as I‘ve said before, I do hope you come to Hogwarts.”


	4. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes to Diagon Alley to get her school books and wand with a very rude McGonagall.

_Tick, tock_. Hermione immediately shot upright and turned her head to the general direction of the sound. There was a muddy brown owl perched behind the glass of her room’s window. Swallowing the bile she had been fighting all day, she stood up. She made her way to the glass and placed her hand on the window’s latch. Taking a moment to steady herself, she took a deep breath. Then she slowly opened the window and hesitantly took the brown envelop out of the bird’s beak.

Truth be told, Hermione felt like she could jump out of her skin at any moment; she was that nervous. Even though the decision was long made, there was a sense of finality to writing it down that made Hermione anxious. As she sat down in front of her desk though anticipation started overtaking her nerves. Making the decision hadn’t been nearly as hard as she had previously thought. The promise of people like her, people that would understand her and maybe even like her, was simply irresistible. When compared to her other prospects, a moronic school full of idiots and bullies, teachers included, it became abundantly clear that it wasn’t much of a choice.

As much as Hermione loved them, not even her parents could change make her want to stay. Explaining that to them however, had been rather hard. After all, they had had no idea of just how much she despised her previous school. They had been hesitant at first: giving up their little girl wasn’t easy no matter how much they respected her decision, but eventually they had come around. They understood that not exploring this power, this part of her, simply wasn’t a possibility.

So that is why, after she had read the letter, Hermione wrote down that she would in fact be going to Hogwarts and that the date the professor proposed to get all the requirements to go to the school, this date being tomorrow on 2 o’clock, was acceptable. She also agreed to meet the professor in the pub, the Leaky Cauldron with her parents. Hermione kept her answer curt but polite, seeing as she doubted the professor was the sort to appreciate long, flowery letters. When everything was written down, she neatly folded the paper back into the envelop and returned to the window where the professor’s brown owl was still waiting.

Hermione stopped right in front of the window, fidgeting slightly. How was she supposed to give a letter to an owl? Was she supposed to just hold it out so it could grab it or would it open its beak so she could? Hermione could kick herself. She knew she should’ve continued asking about the owls. That way she wouldn’t just be standing there. The bird cocked it’s head inquisitively to the side as if asking her ‘What the bloody hell are you waiting for?’ and enforced the sentiment by screeching impatiently. Hermione huffed; none of this owl’s attitude was helping her figure out how to actually do this. She supposed she could –

Hermione jumped back, letting out a high-pitched scream as the owl dove for her hand and ripped the envelop out of it before flying out of the window. By the time she had finally caught her breath the owl was long gone. Still, she couldn’t help but place her hands on her hip. Her wide eyes narrowed and she blew a lone curl out of her face. Then she indignantly bit out: “How rude!”

The bird's attack left her rather ticked off for a while, but as the hours went by her annoyance slowly seeped out. Before she knew it a days had passed and it was time to meet the professor. Thus Hermione found herself in the back seat of her parents' car, twiddling her thumbs as she endured the awkward silence that had been suffocating her since she walked out of her room. Every so often one of her parents would attempt to break this silence, at least temporarily. Her father would, for example, ask her mother whether they were going the right way. To which her mom would promptly respond: "Yes, dear. In fact, I'm fairly certain we'll be at least 10 minutes early. Isn't that wonderful, Hermione?"

This was then her cue to plaster a smile on her face so they could finally go back to their silence. God knows awkward silence is better than awkward small talk. Truthfully, Hermione didn't think she had ever been so grateful to get out of a car. She literally jumped out, desperate for some fresh air.

She didn't allow herself much time to enjoy it though. After two minutes tops, her brows furrowed again. Hermione realized she knew little to nothing about magic, but she simply could not phantom why professor McGonagall had sent them to a pub of all places. Was she even allowed in here?

"Honey, are you sure we have the right address?" her father echoed her thoughts.

"Well this is the address the professor gave us," her mother said, though she sounded unsure.

Hermione could not help but crunch her nose up as she looked the old pub over. An old, rusting metal sign was attached to a rather small and dark building. The sign displayed the name of the – Hermione had to mentally clear her throat before she could even think the term – establishment, namely ‘The Leaky Cauldron’, and appropriately also a black cauldron. Hermione couldn’t blame her father for doubting whether this dingy, old place was where they had to be or not; she did it herself for a good two minutes as well. That is until the door swung open, revealing one haughtily looking professor.

“I see you’re early,” she said sternly peering down at Hermione through her glasses, “Well, then I suppose we’ll start a bit sooner than expected. Please, follow me.”

Then she turned around without waiting for anyone’s reaction and one majestic swipe of coat later she had disappeared into the building.

“Oh well - ” Hermione’s mother tried to answer, but ended up simply talking to the door. Clearing her throat, she then followed the witch into the grubby-looking pub. Hermione immediately started to follow her, but was held back by a familiar, firm hand on her shoulder pulling her back. Looking up, she met her father’s gentle eyes just as he subtly murmured: “Give me your hand, sweetheart.”

Hermione suppressed the urge to huff as she offered her hand up; she couldn’t truly blame him for wanting to keep her close in this unknown place, but it was hardly as if she couldn’t take care of herself. ‘Besides she was a witch now,’ she thought with no small amount of pride. Nevertheless, she let her father steer her into the pub. She let him set the pace  as they hurried to catch up with her mom and the professor and she did it all without emitting a single whine – she was too dignified for that anyway.

When they were finally inside though, Hermione began to appreciate the soothing warmth her father’s hand in hers gave her. The pub was even filthier inside than outside and it was filled with people just as strangely dressed as the professor. Hermione couldn’t help but throw slightly panicked glances in every direction. Nothing she saw comforted her. It seemed as if everywhere she looked there was a strange, old man or woman staring at her. Hermione felt herself squeeze her daddy’s hand and press herself closer against him as his pace quickened.

It wasn’t that she was scared per se. She felt more unpleasant than anything else, like she wasn’t entirely safe. Considering she doubted that all those stares were friendly, she thought this feeling was quite warranted. Nevertheless, despite these feelings of unease, Hermione still had the horrible urge to turn around and scream ‘What are you all looking at!’, an urge she quickly stifled seeing as she doubted it would be appreciated.

As it was Hermione simply let out a relieved sigh when they finally found the professor and her mom by the bar.

“Ah, another muggleborn, I see!” the barman yelled jovially, peering down at her while he cleaned some glasses. The man didn’t seem unkind necessarily, but Hermione still longed to make a sarcastic remark: ‘Muggleborn? What are you talking about? Can’t you see I’m a duck?’ for example would’ve done quite nicely. As she thought this Hermione considered that maybe the stares had annoyed her more then she previously thought.

“Yes, Tom,” – Really? A wizard named Tom? Somehow Hermione had expected more – “we will be using your portal, of course,” the professor coldly informed him.

“Of course,” the bartender responded with another kind smile, apparently unbothered by the professor’s behavior.

This time professor McGonagall didn’t even bother to speak to them she merely walked away. This time though Hermione and her family expected it and quickly caught up. Her mom, ever polite, immediately started making small talk with the other woman as she led them through the bar to a small, walled courtyard. When they arrived there the professor, who had previously been going along with the polite chatter, stopped abruptly. She twirled around to face the entire family, making her dress sweep elegantly over the floor.

“This”, she explained gesturing to the wall behind her, “is a portal. It leads to Diagon Alley, one of the busiest shopping streets in Wizarding London. We are sure to find everything you need there. Now to open the portal you need to touch this brick three times with your wand, which we will acquire later today. The brick’s rather easy to find, three up and two across from the dustbin. Any questions?”

 _Three up, two across. Three up, two across. Three up, two across._ The chance that she would actually forget it was slim to none, but that didn’t mean that Hermione was willing to take chances with matters as important as these. The professor took a minute to take in each of their faces as if she would be able to read a questions on their foreheads. She was a witch though and a teacher at that, so who knows what she was capable of.

“No?” she inquired one last time, “Well, then – ”

She never finished her sentence, twirling back to the wall instead. Hermione let out a small gasp as pulled out a smooth stick from somewhere in her coat. An actual wand! Hermione couldn’t help but wiggle her toes in her shoes. She was that excited! The professor was going to do magic, actual magic! Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from yelling out something obscene as she waited in anticipation.

Three quick tabs later, it finally happened. The brick started to quiver, then wiggle and suddenly they every brick around it started to rearrange itself forming a sober archway large and wide enough for her and her dad to walk through together. Hermione’s mouth fell open as she stared at the portal in awe of the astonishing phenomenon she had just witnessed. Her eyes swept over the edges of the archway and then back to the middle, repeating the experience in her mind in an attempt to understand it. ‘Magic’ Hermione thought with a revering grin.

When she finally let her eyes rest on the professor, Hermione saw that she was wearing what was perhaps the kindest smile she had ever seen on the professor’s gaze. They made eye contact and for a second Hermione thought that she had misjudged the professor, perhaps she wasn’t as cold as she had previously thought, but then the moment was over. The professor lost her smile and Hermione straightened her back. ‘There was a whole new world to discover and no time for loitering!’ she scolded herself.

The professor cleared her throat, catching the attention of her astonished parents who had been touching the walls in fearful awe. “If we could please continue,” she said politely.

Her parents shot out of their stupor, looking a bit sheepish as they realized that both their daughter and the professor were waiting for them. Her dad cleared her throat as well, most likely out of embarrassment, before answering: “Of course, after you, madam.”

With a slightly amused nod the professor took off again. Hermione immediately started to follow, but felt herself being stopped once again. This time both of her parents commanded one of her hands. Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes somewhat petulantly as she felt the firm grip both her parents had on her arm, but was nevertheless determent to not let her parents’ overprotectiveness spoil this experience. Thus, even though she had a little more weight to drag along, Hermione catapulted herself forward into the busy street that was Diagon Alley.

Hermione’s head kept shooting from side to side trying to look at everything at once while still listening to the professor who was walking a few feet in front of them. Not that she could hear much of what she said, the chatter of stream the shopping wizards and witches – and it was painfully obvious that they were wizards and witches; what with all the pointed hats and long robes – drowned pretty much everything else. Nevertheless Hermione still attempted to listen and even managed to catch a few words.

“Cauldrons… just get you a basic one…” professor McGonagall mentioned just as the shiny, black surfaces caught her eye. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons making them glitter, but the professor didn’t pause; she was already pointing to another shop.

“Ah yes, an owl, … don’t really need one … could use Hogwarts’ …”

As if on cue, a great black owl screeched just as she passed it by, making Hermione flinch and shoot a subtle glare at the now covered mark on her hand. ‘Oh no, she would most certainly _not_ be getting one of those!’ Hermione thought decisively. With a little huff she continued making her way through the steady stream of people and following the professor until they finally stopped in front of a grandiose, white building that towered over the other shops.

With another swift turn the professor started speaking again, this time much clearer: “This is Gringotts, the wizarding bank,…”

“My apologizes, professor,” her mom interrupted, “But we did bring the required money with us. Just as you asked in your letter.”

“Mom,” Hermione whispered, embarrassed in her mother’s place, “I told you, wizarding money is different from muggle money. Naturally, we have to exchange it.”

“Ah, of course, dear,” her mom whispered back not bothered in the slightest, before turning back to the professor and apologizing: “I’m afraid I forgot.”

“It’s no problem, truly. In fact, it’s to be expected. Our worlds are after all very different. Please, if you have questions, do not hesitate to ask.”

The professor then swiftly repeated what Hermione had already explained along with some new information: “As you daughter has already said, we will be exchanging your muggle money for wizarding money so that we can commence our shopping. Another thing you should know however is that Gringotts is run by goblins. Goblins are magical creatures that are not considered to be very… pretty. They have about the height of a muggle dwarf and long noses and fingers. Please, do try not to stare, because, while they one of the most intelligent races in existence, they can also be very cranky.”

With those words the professor turned around again and confidently walked over to the entrance. There, besides the building’s burnished bronze doors, Hermione encountered her first goblin. Hermione tried to be respectful, not to stare as the professor had requested, but he was just so fascinating. The goblin besides the entrance was about a head shorter than her – which was a first; finding someone smaller than you was rather hard when you were eleven – and was wearing a scarlet and gold uniform. He had a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet along with his sharp nose. The goblin bowed to them as they walked inside. Hermione wondered if they were supposed to bow back – it seemed like the polite thing to do – but refrained from doing so seeing as professor McGonagall simply the ignored the little creature and walked on.

Inside they found another pair of doors. Though these were silver and had a peculiar poem engraved in them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

 

‘Charming,’ Hermione thought, raising one unimpressed eyebrow at the little rhyme. Unfortunately the professor noticed and saw fit to comment: “I wouldn’t underestimate the goblins if I were you, miss Granger. While many have tried, none have stolen something out of their vaults and survived.”

That little remark stung; it wasn’t like she was actually planning to steal anything. “I just thought the rhyme was a bit over the top,” Hermione corrected.

Glancing back at the silver doors, the professor pulled a face and cocked her head to the side in what Hermione assumed was reluctant acknowledgement. The gesture made the corners of her mouth pull up in a small, satisfied smile. She didn’t get much time to enjoy it though as they had arrived at the end of the vast marble hall they’d been walking through.

The professor cleared her throat, quite loudly actually, and then waited impatiently as the goblin gradually put down his pen and looked up from the book he’d been writing in. The goblin then folded his hands and slowly drawled: “Yeeeessss…”

Hermione was pleased to learn that the professor tapped her foot as well when she was impatient and had to force herself not to join in.

“We would like to exchange some muggle money for wizarding money,” the professor told the goblin crisply, before addressing her dad: “Mr. Granger if you’d please…”

“Ah, yes!” her dad immediately shot in action, letting go of Hermione’s hand for the first time since they had entered the Wizarding World in search of his wallet. Hermione was grateful she still had her mom to hold onto though. Gringotts was after all not exactly a cozy place. The lavish architecture was grandiose and designed to impress. It reminded her of the imperial, Roman palaces her family had visited last summer. The emperors would build a room in their palaces strictly used when they met the nobility. This room would always be rather small and long with a ridiculously high ceiling, making the nobel walk quite a while before facing his liege. That way the nobel would be reminded of the greatness of the emperor and would be quivering with fear of his wrath when he finally arrived. Gringotts had a similar build and that along with the hundreds of goblins lined up working on God knows what made her feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Ah there it is.” Her dad said with a grin, giving the professor the required money before putting his wallet back and returning to her side. Hermione stopped glancing around the room when he finally did and let out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.

The goblin took a few moments to inspect the money he’d been given, before saying: “Very well, then. Griphook will return with your Galleons in a few moments.”

The goblin then dismissed them with a quick swing of his hand. Looking up, Hermione noticed for the first time that the goblin was sneering, as if he really didn’t want to be there. It made her frown. Hadn’t the goblin ever heard the saying ‘the customer is always right’? ‘He really should work on his facial expression,’ Hermione thought.

They went to stand a few feet away from the goblin they had spoken to and waited there for a good five minutes before another goblin appeared. This one was no friendlier than his predecessor. He merely shoved a little bag in the professor’s hands with a quickly grumbled “Here!” before he disappeared again.

Hermione was proud to say she managed to walk the entire way out of the long building before she opened her mouth.

“These goblins,” she asked annoyed, “they aren’t the friendliest of sorts, are they?”

“No, they are not. I suppose they do have their reasons for being this …” the professor paused searching for the right word, “aggravated, but that was a long time ago and there truly is no excuse for such impoliteness.”

Hermione’s interest peaked at that and she raised one questioning brow in the professor’s direction, mentally prompting her to continue. The professor didn’t take the bait though.

“You’ll learn all about that during your ‘History of Magic’ class, no doubt,” she told her instead. Hermione wasn’t entirely satisfied with that, but she supposed she could let it go. She could just look it up in her school books when she was home anyway.

After that they went from shop to shop, buying a basic cauldron accompanied by standard potion ingredients, a set of quills and a few bottles of ink - why the Wizarding World couldn't just evolve and use a pen was beyond her, but she didn't complain – and of course her own set of weird witch clothes, which were apparently called robes, until finally -

"Flourish and Bolts, Diagon Alley's most famous bookshop. This is where we'll be buying your schoolbooks."

Hermione felt her entire face light up. Grateful that her parents had had to let go of her to carry everything, Hermione grinned. Then she promptly shoved her shopping bag into the hands of whichever parent was at her right and ran off into the shop. She only slowed down when she spotted a shop clerk. She sprinted to him immediately grabbing his robe and pulling to get his attention. The clerk turned around with a shocked shout, but Hermione didn't give him the time to make another sound.

Straightening her back, she recited: "I will be needing..."

Finally done, she took a deep breath and waited for the clerk to respond. He didn't though. Instead the wide eyed clerk blinked one, two, three times, before closing the mouth that had fallen open during her little rant. He looked up to the sky as if he was waiting for someone to swoop him and to take him far away from here. Hermione wiggled her toes in her shoes and tried to suppress the urge to fidget nervously. She supposed she could become a bit rude when she got carried away.

"First year at Hogwarts, I presume," the clerk sighed, to which Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

“Very well. You can just come along then,” he continued tiredly, gesturing behind him. It was only then that Hermione noticed the family standing there. The family consisted of a middle aged man and woman and what Hermione presumed was their daughter. The girl had dirty blond hair and couldn’t be any older than Hermione herself. She would probably be going to Hogwarts this September as well. Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and her eyes widen. Dammit, there went her first chance at getting a friend! Hermione let her gaze slip to the floor, mortified. The entire family was looking at her as if she had two heads.

It is on that exact moment that her parents decided to barge in on the occasion. Panting, they came to a halt when they saw her. The professor was more graceful. Slowly trailing behind her parents, she opted to remain silent and peered down her glasses instead.

“Hermione!” her mother screeched, “What have we told you about running off?”

“Not to do it,” Hermione mumbled, peeking out from underneath her lashes in an attempt to see just how ticked off her parents were. Judging from there posture, folded arms and her mom’s pursed lips Hermione figured it wasn’t that bad. There were no narrowed eyes or tapping of the feet – it is no secret where she gets that particular habit from – so one apology should do.

“I’m sorry, mom,” she said trying to sound sincere. Which she was, she just thought the embarrassment she just had to suffer was more than punishment enough. “I just got a little overexcited.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” her mom sighed and Hermione had to forcefully keep her smirk at bay.

“Just don’t do it again,” her dad added, before addressing the clerk and the still gaping family surrounding, “Sorry for my daughter. She just really likes books and, well, she’s absolutely thrilled to go to that school – uh what’s it called again, dear?”

“Hogwarts, dad,” Hermione muttered, trying to hide her eye roll.

“Oh!” the woman yelled out as if she had just discovered ow to cure cancer, “You must be _muggles_! Why that explains it.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. How exactly did that explain anything? The woman didn’t give Hermione the chance to ask though, as she quickly ushered her daughter in front of her saying: “Now, Susan, introduce yourself to the muggles.”

Hermione recognized the look on the girl’s parents’ faces. It was the ‘Come-on-we-raised-you-well-so-don’t-embarrass-us’ look that had been shot her own way more than she could count so she decided to help the girl with the dirty blond hair out.

“Hello, I’m Hermione,” she said offering her hand. Who knew maybe she would make a friend after all?  Still the girl seemed hesitant to take it and when she finally did, she kept her head down never looking Hermione in the eyes.

“Hey, I’m Susan, Susan Bones,” she spoke softly, as if it was a suggestion and not a statement. Hermione didn’t really get the feeling that Susan really wanted to talk to her and it made her want to pull her hand back.

Susan’s parents beamed at professor McGonagall as if they had just won the Nobel prize and when she looked up Hermione saw the professor give them a small, pained smile back. Hermione pursed her lips as she thought: ‘Witches are weird.’

“Well,” the bored looking shop clerk interrupted them, “I got your books. They’re all behind the counter. Now if you’d please –” he made an exasperated gesture towards the counter.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but the professor was the faster: “I’m afraid we still need a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_.”

Hermione’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. That was hardly the only book she would be needing. No, no, _no_! if she was going to be integrating into an entirely different world then she was at least going to need some background information. Just the basics of course. The clerk didn’t seem to appreciate it when she told him this though. Why, for a second Hermione thought he was going to sigh in her face. One stern look from professor McGonagall had him cooperating though.

“Sure thing, professor,” he eventually said, albeit rather reluctantly.

The clerk went to get it as they all made their way towards the counter and got their money out. Throughout it all, Hermione felt the other family’s gaze burn holes in her back. It made her squirm and she didn’t think she had ever been so glad to get out of a bookstore. Hermione didn’t think she wanted to be friends with that girl after all.

She set it out of her mind though. She was way too excited to let this one encounter spoil her good mood. With every step she took, her grin widened. They had only one shop left to go too: the wand maker’s.

Somehow she had thought that this shop would be more glamorous, more magical, but it was just as narrow and shabby looking as the rest of Diagon Alley. The golden letters over the door were peeling off, but you could still make out what it read: _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_. A little disappointed, Hermione sighed and followed professor McGonagall into the shop. As they walked Hermione heard a tinkling bell ring from somewhere deep inside the shop. Taking in the narrow boxes – There must’ve been thousands – that were stacked up all the way to the ceiling, Hermione grinned. That was more like it. Hermione found she quite liked the place; even though it was tiny. The stacked up boxes reminded her of a library.

Eventually an old man appeared. He had hair as white as snow and eerie pale eyes. Still he had a kind face. “Good afternoon,” he said, his voice soft and his smile wide.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. Miss Granger over here is a first year Hogwarts student and is in need of a wand. We are on a rather tight schedule though so let’s be quick, please,” the professor said crisply.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Tight schedule? Well, that was the first she heard about that. She supposed it would be rude to ask whatever business the professor had that was more important than Hermione’s future. Still she was tempted.

She could probably forget about asking all the new question that had just popped into her head. No doubt the professor would simply interrupt her if she tried, just like she had done at _Madame Malkin’s_ , the dress shop. Mentally Hermione added another task to her to do list: find a book on the making of wands.

“Hello,” Hermione greeted the man as well and heard her still slightly overwhelmed parents follow her example shortly afterwards.

“Well then,” the wand maker said jovially, “let’s get started, shall we? Now every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. Please hold out your wand arm so that I can – Oh goodness!”

Hermione, who had assumed her writing arm and wand arm where the same and was thus holding her right arm out, looked to the side to see what caused this little outburst. A gasp escaped her lips. Hundreds of pure white flakes were trickling down the ceiling. It was snowing! Wide eyed, Hermione couldn’t do anything but stare even as the wand maker hurried down the aisle straight into the snow. She blinked a few times, wait a second – none of the snowflakes were hitting the wand maker. In fact they weren’t hitting anything! They disappeared before they could make contact with anything

She vaguely heard the wand maker mutter as he rumbled through his stacks: “Extraordinary…must be vine…no other…right powerful too…” She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the magic in front of her though so nothing really computed.

Enchanted, she lifted her hand reaching out for the beautifully white snowflakes; no matter that they were falling about two feet too far away to touch. Yet when her arm was completely outstretched something changed. An abrupt gust of wind struck and suddenly the snowflakes were being steered right into her direction. A shiver went through her back as she felt the first flake settle down on her palm. Then another hit her cheek and another fell on her sweater. Another and another and another. They kept falling until finally –

“Aha!” the wand maker, Ollivander, yelled out, holding a narrow box high in the air with an ecstatic grin on his face, before he ran back to them. He carefully set the box down on the counter and deliberately opened it. Then he lifted a light brown, wooden wand out of the box. It was absolutely beautiful. A lighter shade of wood ran around the wand like vines, surrounding it. Hermione felt the distinct urge to snatch the wand out of Mr. Ollivander’s grasp. In fact, she had to flex her hand to keep from doing so.

That was why when the wand maker finally offered it to her, she didn’t hesitate. As soon as her fingers touched the wood as comforting warmth shot through them. It spread first to her hand and then to her entire body, melting the snow away. Hermione closed her eyes as she sensed the comforting sensation course through her. She felt on top of the world, as if all her goals were simply waiting for her to achieve them. Her lips curved into big, languid smile.

She didn’t know how long she stood there like that, wand in hand and a smile on her face, but it felt like centuries. Eventually though the sound of clapping awakened her from her stupor, making her slowly open her eyes again. Her smile widened into a full blown grin as she felt the strangest sense of accomplishment course through her. Excited she swung around, looking for her parents. They hadn’t moved an inch, still by the door, but they were clapping happily with the wand maker. She hadn’t known it was possible but her grin grew even wider as she beamed at then.

“How amazing!” the wand maker yelled, making Hermione turn back to him, “Why, in all my years, this is only the third time I’ve witnessed this. Of course, neither of those occurrences were quite as powerful as this one. Ooh no, not even nearly in fact. My, my!”

Mr. Ollivander burst into another spontaneous bout of clapping, making Hermione giggle as she felt pride settle in her belly. Seemed like she was still special after all, even in the magical world.

“And what _exactly_ occurred just now, Mr. Ollivander?” professor McGonagall’s voice could have cut through pure steel, as it was it simply cut through Hermione’s happiness. Shooting a glance at the professor, Hermione saw that her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed.

Mr. Ollivander wasn’t deterred though. He answered as happily as five year old with a lollypop: “Why I have it reliable sources that wands made from vine wood are capable of emitting magical effects when a suitable owner walks into the same room as the wand. I’ve only seen it twice in my life, this time notwithstanding, and never as powerful as this time. Oh no, the most I had seen before today were a few sparks. Must be the dragon core, gives it more power you see.”

During his little speech, Mr. Ollivander’s head shot from the professor to Hermione and the back again. Every few sentences he nodded, as if agreeing with himself. It made Hermione question his sanity. After all, full grown wizards should not act like five year olds on a sugar high. Still Hermione made sure to drink everything he said in.

“In fact, dragon heartstrings make for the most powerful wands of the three. The other two being, phoenix feather and unicorn hair, of course. Always have. Somewhat temperamental, unfortunately. Your wand is also 10¾" long, rather neat. Thus suitable for more elegant and refined spell-casting. Oh! And, of course, the vine wood! Not very common. They’re attracted to wizards and witches with hidden depth, those that astound everyone around them time and time again. No ordinary witch or wizards would ever be chosen by a vine wand. Oh, no! Vine wands are only for those with a greater purpose. You must have a vison for the future to own one. Yes, yes, I’m quite intrigued as to what will become of you. For whatever path you chose it must be an extraordinary one.”

The continuation of his speech was directed only at Hermione. The wand maker’s eyes bored into her own as if he was trying to push everything he said through mentally as well. When he was finally done, Hermione wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or creeped out.

Fortunately, she was spared from having to react at all. “Thank you for your services,” the professor said, dropping what Hermione assumed was the appropriate amount of galleons on the counter with a loud cling, “That will be all.”

They were out of the shop in a matter of seconds and before she knew it they were standing outside the Leaky Cauldron again, by her parents car. Professor McGonagall was peering down her glasses again and her parents were loading everything they had bought into the trunk. Then the professor’s hand suddenly shot out and shoved something into her hands.

“You will be expected,” the professor said icily, “at 11 o’clock at King’s Cross station. The portal is a wall between the ninth and tenth platform, Platform 9¾. Further instruction are on the piece of paper I just handed over to you. Do not lose it and do not be late. The train doesn’t wait for anyone. If you are in need of an assistant, that can be arranged.”

Raising her head high and proud in the air, Hermione answered: “We’ll manage.”

One sharp nod later she was left, disappearing back into the pub. Hermione followed her movements with narrowed eyes. She had thought the witch had been warming up to her. She hadn’t seemed nearly as irritated during this little trip as she had during the times she went over to Hermione’s house. Apparently not, though. As soon as she had her wand, the professor turned back to ice as if the snow had frozen all the kindness she could muster. Hermione hoped that the rest of Wizarding world wasn’t as grumpy as this professor. Otherwise her life might not change as much as she would like.

“Hermione, where did the professor go?” Hermione turned around when her mom spoke.

“She just left, actually,”

Her mom’s frown mirrored her own. She was probably ranting about the sheer rudeness of the woman inside her head, but Hermione knew she wouldn’t say a word.

“Well, let’s go then. You’ll probably want to get started on those books, won’t you, pumpkin?” her dad said, already making his way to the driver’s seat and Hermione felt her whole face light up at the prospect. She quickly hopped into the car and pulled the first book on her mental to read list on her lap, having previously taken it out of the bag for exactly that purpose.

From the first page on, Hermione was enraptured. She walked out of the car and onto the pavement with only the help of her muscle memory. The rest of her brain and senses were busy with the book in her hands. The fact that said book was about twice as big as her head made things a little difficult, but soon she was once again seated, this time on the couch in the living room.

From that moment on Hermione only paused her reading to eat and sleep and that was solely because her parents forced her. Time flew as Hermione read and reread each and every one of her books and before she knew it she was standing in front of a brick wall at King’s Cross station.

Truth be told, Hermione had never been more excited in her entire life. She was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Everything was going to be different! She would finally be surrounded by equals instead of half-witted idiots like her former peers. Obviously, Hermione couldn't wait to board the train. She was a tad scared of course: what if she was the half-witted idiot now? She didn't think she could bare that. It was one of the primary reasons why she had read all her textbooks from cover to cover, the other being, of course, curiosity. Nevertheless, Hermione wasn't sure she was prepared considering she would be sharing her classes with people who had spent their entire lives surrounded by magic. Yes, she was a bit worried, but professor McGonagall had assured her that the other students hadn't ever done any magic either seeing as it was strictly forbidden.

Both she and her parents stared at the wall hiding the passage to platform 9 and 3/4 for a few solid minutes. Then they triple checked if they had the right wall; after all they didn't want a bump on the head nor did they wish to look like idiots. Eventually, though, her father grabbed a naked part of the bar used to steer the gigantic cart and laid a warm, comforting hand on the small of her back.

"Together," he promised.

Hermione glanced to her right and was relieved to see her mother had copied her father's actions and was smiling down on her. Tearing her eyes of her smiling parents, she focused on the wall in front of her and whispered: "Together."

And so Hermione rushed to her new life.


	5. The Train

**Chapter 4**

Hermione peeped one eye open. Huh, looked like that portal had worked after all. Satisfied that she wasn't going to crash into a wall, she cracked her other eye open as well. As she took everything in, she felt a deep sense of awe sink in. It was just like Diagon Alley. There were people everywhere, men and women in long robes accompanying their children. Owls were screeching and families were hugging. There were bunch of boys laughing and girls kissing each other on the cheek, giggling, and an entire clan of redheads was being fussed over by their equally ginger mother. Hermione realized she didn't just feel awe though, but a sense of belonging as well. She could now honestly say that this year was going to be different.

Hermione was ecstatic. Grinning, she immediately started pushing her cart forward. She had to get on the train. Otherwise she wouldn't have a decent compartment. Plus she had to get there early so she could start introducing herself to the other children. 'Friends', Hermione thought, 'here I -' the sound of a throat being cleared behind her shook her out of her thoughts '- come'

"Sweetie," her dad said, looking amused and something else Hermione couldn't define, when she turned around, "aren't you forgetting something?"

Hermione felt her eyes widen comically. Forgetting! How? She had checked everything at least three times. Not to mention she never forgot anything. Literally! Her eyes shifted from her dad's to her mom's face as if she would be able to read the answer on her forehead. She was wearing a smile that seemed to strain her muscles in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Her eyes were twinkling with what could either be pride or unshed tears. Overall she seemed kind of sad, but determined not to show it.

Her dad’s deep chuckle drew her attention away before she could open her mouth. Looking around she saw him crouched down on the station floor, his arms wide open. “Come here, pumpkin,” he said, still laughing slightly.

Hermione ran right into his arms, clasping her hands around his neck. She felt herself being lifted into the air, giggling as she went. He hoisted her up and Hermione instinctively placed her hands on his shoulders to keep herself upright. He too was wearing a grin that seemed way too teary for such a cheery occasion.

Frowning, she said: “It’s only until Christmas.”

His grin widened, but Hermione was sure it was only for her benefit. If anything he seemed sadder than before. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to make them feel better when she didn’t even understand what was making them sad in the first place? Then he put her back on her feet and before she had the chance to think something up she was being enveloped again, by her mom this time.

“Honestly, I’ll be back before you know it,” Hermione told her mom when she finally broke the hug. She had the same reaction as her father, though; she looked as if she was seconds away from crying and yet she kept her smile firmly in place.

“Hermione, remember, if anyone threatens you – ”

“Kick him in the balls, I know,” finished Hermione, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

Parents, Hermione didn’t think she would ever understand them. How they could be sad on such a wonderful occasion was truly beyond her. After a few more glances at each of their faces, Hermione decided to give up. They had already made their way into each other’s arms; they would be fine. They would probably be much better at consoling each other than she would at consoling either of them. Thus with one last wave in their direction, Hermione hopped back to her card and started making her way through the mass. She quickly dropped her luggage of, boarded the train and started making her way through the long corridor.

She passed a few compartments, but those were mainly filled with children that seemed a bit too old to associate with her. Hermione was fairly certain that particular social rule counted even in the wizarding world. Most of the first years, she found, sat in the back of the train. She had planned to pick a compartment with not too many people in it and then introduce herself to everyone, but – well – she kind of froze up every time she passed one. A tidal way of insecurities hit her hit her each time she paused in front one. What if they didn’t like her? What if there were some weird wizard customs she didn’t know of? She hadn’t bought any books on etiquette – what if it was completely different – she wouldn’t know until she had embarrassed herself. Each time she passed a compartment she steeled herself and each time she ranted herself out of actually going in.

Eventually, she found an empty compartment and sighed. It didn’t look like she was going to enter any of the other ones so she might as well sit down in this one. Friends could wait, she supposed. She put her bag down on the seat and then installed herself beside it. She pulled her now favorite book, _Hogwarts, A History_ , out of her bag and started to reread some of her favorite passages, specifically those describing the Hogwarts Houses.

Ravenclaw, known to prize intelligence, wit and knowledge, would be the obvious choice. Hermione was smart, that much was certain, and she supposed she could make a lot of intelligent friends there. The thought brought a smile to her face. Then again, she could make them all hate her by overshadowing them at every turn. That thought made her smile come right off again. Then there was Huffelpuff, which values hard work, fairness, and patience, and was possible as well. She had always been dedicated after all and she did believe in fair play – no point in winning if you didn’t beat your opponent fair and square. It could work. Though the book did mention the house had a bit of a reputation when it came to its members being a tad dimwitted and, well, that would not do. Another house was Gryffindor, which was described to hold only the brave and the bold. Truth be told it was what she was hoping for. This house seemed to produce the heroes, the adventurers, but most of all everyone loved them, not liked as the Huffelpuffs, but truly loved. The book hadn’t explicitly said it, but Hermione could tell they were the darlings of the school. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be adored. It probably wasn’t in the cards for her though; she would probably get put in Ravenclaw, nothing wrong with that.

She supposed she could get into the last house as well. Slytherin was the house where only the ambitious, cunning and resourceful thrived. Now she wasn’t sure about cunning. Sure she was smart, but cunning was an entire different matter. The same counted for resourcefulness. She didn’t really know as she had never really been placed in a situation she had to think herself out of: every time her former classmates got a bit too much for her, something, which she now knew was magic, would blow up in their faces. Also, Hermione had read that the founder Salazar Slytherin left the school because he refused to let muggleborns, like herself, into the school. This was, of course, at least a thousand years ago, around the time when muggles were still actually hunting witches and thus completely understandable. It was obviously outdated now though so Hermione didn’t understand why it was so heavily featured. Still she had to admit, there was one aspect of the house she did have though and she had it in spades: ambition. Whatever house she would be sorted into, whatever courses she would decide to take and whatever job she would decide to practice, Hermione Granger would be someone, someone to write books about and quote in class. Hermione Granger would be someone to remember, because she refused to be anything less.

A tentative knock shook her out of her musings. She quickly slammed the book shut and clutched it to her chest – a habit from when her former classmates would try to take her books so they could make fun of them. Her head shot up. Outside the see-through compartment door stood a boy with his hand raised, looking like a deer caught in a headlight. Hermione blinked a few times; it took some time to process this. Someone had come to talk to her!

Hermione immediately jumped of her seat and rushed to meet him. Throwing the door open, she put on her cheeriest grin and chirpily said: “Hello! I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.”

She stuck her hand out, grin still intact and waited for him to take it. She faltered slightly when he hesitated, looking her up and down wide eyed, but eventually he took it and stuttered: “H-H-Hel-lo, I-I’m Neville, Neville L-Longbot-tem.”

He visibly swallowed at the end of the sentence seemingly relieved that he had gotten it out all. A part of Hermione was relieved as well. He was just as nervous as she was. Though she prayed to god her hands weren’t as clammy as his. Honestly, did he have a condition? Hermione had to physically fight the urge to pull her hand out of his grasp and wipe it off on her jeans. She didn’t though and even managed to hide her grimace from him. The latter wasn’t that difficult, seeing as he was rather intent on looking at her feet instead of her face.

The obligated time of shaking hands eventually ended and Hermione subtly moved her hand to her jeans. He was too busy looking at anything but her to notice anyway. After another very visible swallow he seemed to have finally gathered enough courage to try his hand at talking once again.

“I’m l-looking f-for my toad. H-His name is T-Trevor. Have you seen him?”

Toad? Hermione had read her Hogwarts letter at least a hundred times, she knew toads were among the few pets you could take to Hogwarts. Still she hadn’t thought anyone would actually take one with. They didn’t seem like they would make good pets. They weren’t useful like owls – even though they were dreadful creatures Hermione could still see they had their uses – or cute and independent like cats. You couldn’t even pet a toad! Wait, could you?

Hermione did her best not to let her confusion and slight disgust show on her face. Instead she tried to show how intently she was listening to his problems and to at least appear as if she cared about it. That is what good friends, or at least good potential friends, do after all. Well, that is what she had once read in a psychology book on friendship at least. ‘Friends,’ she reminded herself, ‘help other friends as well.’

“No, sorry,” she answered, “but I could help you look if you’d like.”

The boy looked genuinely grateful and even grinned. “Y-yeah,” he answered, “that’d be g-great.”

“Excellent!” Hermione yelled, “Let me just put my stuff back and I’ll be right along.”

Then she sprinted to her back to put her book back. She felt the distinct urge to clap her hands like a little girl but repressed it by imagining herself turning around and finding an audience of her former classmates, sticking her tongue out and obnoxiously singing: ‘Naa na na naa na!’ Childish, but satisfying. Grinning from ear to ear she quickly ran back to a still overwhelmed looking Neville.

“Okay, let’s go!” she chirped, pulling him down the corridor by his robes.

Her companion and potential friend wasn't exactly what she had envisioned for her first friend. He continued to stutter and thus let her do almost all of the talking. Now normally she would have no problem with that. She was a very eloquent person and didn't mind talking; it also gave her chance to introduce herself to some new people. It did become annoying after a while though, having someone practically cowering behind your back. When she imagined her friends, she had always seen tall boys and girls with glasses planted firmly on their high held noses. She had always imagined sophisticated people, people that were held in high regard. Neville was not. Hermione didn't want to be picky, - 'Take every friend you can get!' most of her seemed to be screaming - but Neville didn't even come close. Yes, Hermione was going to hold off on calling the boy her first friend.

They went from compartment to compartment but no one had seen a toad named Trevor. Eventually Hermione had to tell Neville that she really had to go back to her own compartment to change, but she promised him she’d be back immediately. She walked to her compartment as fast as her legs would carry her nearly knocking someone over on the way.

“Hey! Watch where you’re –”

“Sorry!” and she was running again. Neville may not be her first choice of friends but that didn’t mean she could leave him to fend for himself; he would probably bump into a wall or something. Plus, over the last hour Hermione had become determined to find his stupid toad. She was playing it smart this time. Even if she didn’t manage to make any friends, she would still have Neville to go to if needed. This would not be a repeat of her last school experience; she would not allow it to be. She changed in record time and then strode back to where she had left the boy. Once there, she noticed he had only done two compartments in her absence and most likely not very well. She would just start over then.

“Come along, Neville,” she hollered as stopped in front of the next compartment.

“Uh, I’ve a-already d-done that one, H-Hermione,” he said. As if she hadn’t noticed that. Hermione just ignored him.

“Has anyone seen a toad ? Neville’s lost one,” she said, cataloguing their faces and her first impression of them as she had done with all the other students she had met. The black haired boy looked rather kind; probably because of his friendly glittering, green eyes. The other boy though, the red head, he was another story. His face twisted into what Hermione supposed was an annoyed expression but simply look weird to her. Not to mention he had dirt on his nose.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” the redhead said. Obviously, he was rude as well. Hermione mentally put him in the ‘Only in Case of Emergencies’ category, which was even lower than Neville; at least Neville was a nice person. It was only then that she noticed he had his wand out. The wand looked rather battered and something wide glinted at the end. That must be the core sticking out. She may not have gotten her hands on a wand making book yet but she was fairly certain it wasn’t supposed to do that. Nevertheless, she was intrigued.

“O, are you doing magic?” she said, sitting down, “Let’s see it, then.”

She held her head raised so high she had to peer down to see what he was doing, her back as straight as a plank. The boy looked surprised and more than a little nervous. Hermione just hoped he wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t in their books. What if he did some complicated spell he ha learned from his parents as soon as he got his wand? She would look like an absolute fool! Her foot started to tab and she couldn’t bring herself to stop it.

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Nothing happened. Hermione allowed the corners of her lips to tug slightly upwards. He had waved his wand, but nothing had happened. She carefully breathed out. The rat was as grey as ever and still fast asleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” Hermione drawled, taking the time to raise one very deliberate eyebrow before she continued: “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple just for practice and it’s all worked for me.” – Well, she had practiced the incantation and the wand movement, but she hadn’t actually attempted to do any magic since the first page of each of her school books clearly stated that magic by minors in muggle-inhabited areas. It didn’t seem like they knew that though and she sure wouldn’t be the one to tell them – “Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

Their faces were almost comical; their eyes were equally wide as they swallowed simultaneously. Then they looked at each other, quite obviously stunned. That’s right! Hermione may not have had the advantage of growing up around magic, but she was more than capable of making up for it.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” the rude redhead muttered.

“Harry Potter,” the black haired boy with the glasses said.

“Are you really?” said Hermione, her eyes flying open with both astonishment and excitement, “I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.”

Why, Hermione was in the presence of a Wizarding celebrity! She grinned. Grinning makes you look kinder; at least that’s what her mom told her. Maybe he had want to be her friend. You become friends with people you have a lot in common with after all and they were both rather exceptional even if he didn’t look like much. Then again looking at Hermione you wouldn’t be able to tell she was a child genius either. Though, this boy took that into the extreme. Hermione was pretty sure he was a bit skinnier than was healthy and his clothes were at least three sizes too big for him. He also wasn't very tall. If it weren’t for the lightning bolt shaped scar she spied on his forehead, she wouldn’t believe him. Frowning, she thought: ‘Shouldn’t the vanquisher of the Dark Lord be a little more impressive?’

He also looked a bit dazed, as if he wasn’t sure what was happening around him. Then it clicked; after all the books had stated he had disappeared shortly after it was done.

“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” said Hermione dumfounded. Hermione desperately wanted to ask if he remembered anything, if his scar hurt sometimes, if …, but that would be rude and she really couldn’t afford to make him angry. In fact he already looked uncomfortable as it was. _Bullocks_! Being a celebrity, Harry Potter was sure to be popular and when popular people disliked you everyone disliked you. ‘Alright, Hermione,’ she thought nervously, ‘just change the subject.’

“Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad…”

He was still staring at her as if her hair and nose had just simultaneously turned pink. Well, that wasn’t working. ‘Best to just remove yourself from the equation,’ she decided.

“Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Then she grabbed Neville by the wrist and dragged him along with her, out of the compartment. The toadless boy looked like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He had a look of such ridiculous disbelieve on his face that Hermione was two seconds away from snapping her fingers in front of his face. Then he finally broke out in a grin and started gushing about The Boy Who Lived.

Really, Hermione didn’t think the skinny boy she had just met warranted the blind admiration Neville had for him. From what she gathered he had only been a babe when he got the scar that had made him famous. _Modern Magical History_ had clearly stated that he was only two years old when the dark wizard Voldemort attempted to kill him and disappeared. Thus it was much more likely that it was a preventive measure taken by either one of his parents, who had both died during the attack, or Dumbledore, who had been hiding the family, that had actually saved him. Still, it was better that he didn’t dislike her. That is why Hermione decided to let Neville continue his search for his toad alone and to go up to the driver herself. That way she could give the boy a much more accurate calculation of when they would arrive.

She turned to tell Neville just that when – “Hey!” Hermione shrieked as she felt something collide with her throwing her to the ground. She landed flat on her butt. Angrily she blew the locks of hair that had fallen in front of her face away and clenched her fists, readying herself for the tirade of a lifetime, but then –

‘That’s not normal,’ was the first thought that came to mind when she laid eyes what had bumped into her or rather who. The boy’s skin was as pale as a summer cloud, his platinum, slicked back hair only a few shades darker, though there was a pink hue on his cheeks as if he were flushed. His face was made up of hard lines: high cheekbones, a pointed chin and an aristocratic nose. She thought he was most likely the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. That is if it wasn’t for that ugly sneer on his face.

“Are you blind?” spit the pale boy haughtily, slapping away the hands of the two meat sacks that were trying to help him up.

“Am I blind? I’m not the one running around the corridor knocking people to the ground!” – well at least not this time – “You’re the one that hit me!” Hermione felt her nostrils flare as she yelled back at the boy that was now standing up and looking down at her.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” sneered the boy, “I am Draco Malfoy.”

Crawling onto her feet again, she scoffed: “Yes, well, I’m Hermione Granger, but I’m not being a prat about it!”

Then she twirled around on her heels and elegantly strode of to the driver, leaving a bunch of gaping boys in her wake. On her way she huffed; so far she was not impressed by wizard kind at least not with their manners. Bumping into someone and then yelling at that person for it, honestly! Hermione didn’t care if he was the Queen of the entire United-Kingdom, if he was going to be rude she would tell him off. 

At least the driver was polite when she asked him when they would be arriving. Of course, he confirmed her suspicions; they were nearly there. With a satisfied smile, Hermione took off again, back to The Boy Who Lived.

"He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side," said the redhead ominously. Hermione's nose couldn't help but crunch up when she noticed he still had food in his mouth. Honestly was that boy raised in a barn? Then he turned around and faced her. He looked once againannoyed while he asked: "Can we help you with something?"

His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Hermione was determined to not let it - 'Do you actually think that's normal, that hair of yours?' followed by cruel giggles - get to her. She would stay friendly and make up for making the kind, dark haired boy uncomfortable by helping him out.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up front to ask the driver and he says we're nearly there," she managed to say all this without letting her annoyance shine through and was quite proud of herself. The kind boy appreciated it too, it seemed; he smiled at her. That was when she noticed what a mess their compartment was. Her brain immediately linked the scene to the boys that had bumped into her in the corridor and her eyes flew open.

"You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

She had just wanted to warn them, to be helpful, but again the redhead - what was his name again, oh yes, Ron - didn't take it as such. Instead he scowled at her. "Scrabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, his face becoming even redder than before, "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

Again his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"All right -" Hermione said clenching her jaw, "I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,"

Hermione pursed her lips and turned on her heels, letting her hair swing as she did and hoping against logic that it would hit him in the face. 'Don't stoop to his level, Hermione, you're better than that,' she repeated to herself as she walked back to the compartment entrance. When he heard a snort behind her though it became too much.

She twirled round again, molded her expression into a carbon copy of her most hated former bully and haughtily said: "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Then and only then did she storm out.

Outside, Hermione was quickly swept into the maelstrom of people. The train had been gradually slowing down for the last few minutes and Hermione decided to go back to her own compartment to get her handbag seeing as she didn't know where Neville was anyway. She had to worm her way through all the children to get anywhere though, which became annoying fast. Honestly, they couldn't just make two lines was above her; it would be much more effective. On the way to her compartment she heard a cool, almost mechanic voice echo through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

She supposed the intercom had just given her one less thing to worry about, still she didn't feel comfortable leaving all her books and the rest of her luggage behind. What if someone stole something? Hermione decided to set it out of her mind and to follow the stream of children out the train; the school probably used magic to move the luggage anyway.

Thus Hermione pushed herself to the door and onto the tiny, dark platform it lead to. Once there she couldn't help but shiver, both from excitement and the cold. She pulled the long robes closer to her body and rubbed her arms because of the latter and felt her stomach lurch because of the former. Still, Hermione thought she looked fairly composed. That is until she saw a lamp hanging above the students followed closely by a big, hairy head. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. That couldn't be a man. It looked like one, but it couldn't be, he was way too tall, too big, to be human.

"Is that a - a giant?" Hermione wondered. She didn't even know she had spoken out loud until she got an answer.

"Oh yes, that's Hagrid, the gamekeeper. My sister told me about him. He's only a half-giant though." Hermione turned around to see that a nice looking girl had spoken. She had round cheeks and two pigtails holding thick, golden hair together.

"Oh," Hermione said, "that wasn't in the book I read, Hogwarts, a History."

The golden haired girl just rolled her eyes, but paired with the kind grin on her face it didn't seem so mean. What she did next though: "The important things never are," she laughed.

Hermione blinked a few times. Important - not in - never in - books. She was spared from having to answer - or maybe the girl was, depending on how you look at it - by the half-giant.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, kids.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets sorted into Slytherin

**Chapter 5**

The boat ride to the castle had been the most enchanting experience of Hermione’s life yet. The water had looked black as ink underneath the night sky and with only the moon and a few torches lighting their way to the castle Hermione could not help but get the feeling she was at the start of an adventure. She had smiled the entire way. Even now, having been led to the Great Hall by professor McGonagall, she couldn’t stop, burning cheek muscles be damned. She stared at everything, making sure to catch every detail of the castle and store it deep into her memory.

The moment Hermione had walked into the castle she had known that coming here had been the best decision she had ever made and everything she had encountered since then had only strengthened that believe. She had even seen a ghost! Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. She of course knew all about him as he was featured in _Hogwarts: A History_ , but , while professor McGonagall had had a polite conversation with him, Hermione had been too shy to. She didn’t kick herself for that though. As a student here, she was sure she would get enough time to ask all the ghosts her questions in the seven years she would spend here.

The Great Hall though, was by far the most magical of all, spelled to look like the sky – which she had read in _Hogwarts: A History_ and promptly told the girl next to her – and with at least a thousand candles floating above four long tables. Hermione looked forward to dining here with the students sitting on these tables. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led them there so all the first years stood at the end of the hall facing the older student. Vaguely Hermione noticed the professor silently putting a stool in front of the group and placing a dirty, old hat on it. She was so preoccupied studying the room that she almost missed it when the old hat began to sing:

_“Oh you may not think I’m pretty;_

_But don’t judge on what you see,_

_I’ll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can’t see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you’ve a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You’ll make your real friends_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_

_And don’t get in a flap!_

_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I’m a thinking Cap!”_

 

The entire Hall burst into applause. Hermione would have gladly clapped along herself if she hadn’t been so stunned. The professor stepped forward once again.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hermione didn’t pay attention to any of the other students, too busy fighting against the nerves crawling underneath her skin like ants. Objectively, she knew she had been accepted at the school and that, thus, she had to be sorted. As far as she knew, there had never been a mistake. The chance that she would put the hat on only to be told she wasn’t a witch after all and be send home was very slim indeed. Nevertheless, it was the only scenario running through her mind right now.

“Granger, Hermione.” Professor McGonagall called her name with the exact same detached tone she had done every other first year’s. So, Hermione swallowed and strode forward, sitting down and jamming the dirty hat on her head at ounce.

 _Well, well, what do we have here._ Hermione almost jumped off her stool when she heard the hat speaking in her head. _It’s been a while since I’ve seen a mind like yours. Oh yes, quite a while!_ ‘You mean, genius?’ She answered cautiously. _Yes, child, true genius._ _You remind me of another sorting, one I made decades ago. A young boy that wanted to see the word tremble beneath his feet._ Hermione couldn’t help herself, she had to ask: ‘Did it?’ _Oh, yes, dearie, it did._ For a few seconds the hat was silent, allowing Hermione to become painfully aware of how long her sorting was taking compared to the others, allowing her to catch the frown on professor McGonagall’s face deepening.

Then the hat continued its reasoning in her head. _Where to put you though? Such conflicting desires you have, dearie. There’s the obvious, your intelligence is something unrivaled. Rowena would be salivating at the thought of teaching you, I tell you! But you need no help there. You would not become any more intelligent by being place in Ravenclaw. You do not need to constant competing that drives most of them. You have enough of that by yourself. No not Ravenclaw._ Hermione blinked, stunned, - the house she had assumed she would be in was the first to be thrown out of the proverbial window - but the hat just prattled on.

 _More loyal than most of the Hufflepuffs I’ve sorted in years, yes. And a very hard worker. They would be kind too. A bit put off by your intelligence at first, but eventually you could make many great friends there, friends you could cherish ‘till death. But they would restrain you. Yes, yes, they would expect your brazenness, your unapologizing quest for greatness to lessen. That won’t do._ Hermione had expected as much and simply nodded along to the decision.

 _Between Gryffindor and Slytherin then, as so many things are. Both would help you achieve greatness. Certainly, certainly. But in which would you be happier? I suppose it’s up to you, dearie._ ‘Me?’ Hermione didn’t know one could shriek in one’s mind until then, ‘I thought you were supposed to sort me.’ _Indeed, I am, dearie, indeed, I am. However, you’re a rather difficult one. You stand before two paths. One will lead you to warmth, friendship and love, but not all of you would be allowed there. Some parts of you, the more vindictive ones, the ones you hide even from yourself, would need to remain hidden. You’ll be loved, but not by people who understand just what you are._  ‘And the other one?’ _It would be colder there. You would face many challenges and you would have to fight tooth and nail for every grain of respect you gain, while others are simply handed it. It would be infinitely more dangerous. But the parts you hide from everyone now would be admired there._ _The choice is yours, dearie._

Hermione could feel tears peeking behind her eyes, but she refused to even entertain the notion of letting them fall. Every other child had simply had the choice made for them. But no, she had to choose for herself, didn’t she! She closed her eyes. _Freak_. The hissing was never far from her mind. Hermione calmed herself and asked the question it all came down to. ‘On the second path, would people love me there too?’ _Oh, dearie, if you play your cards right they will throw themselves at your feet._ Hermione nodded.

 _I see your choice is made. Well, in that case_ – “SLYTHERIN!”

 _I expect you’ll be just as extraordinary as that boy from years ago, Miss Granger_.

With a sigh of relief that the entire ordeal was over, Hermione ripped the old hat from her head and opened her eyes. As soon as she did though she realized that she was wrong. It was far from over. The first thing she noticed was professor McGonagall staring at her, mouth opened wide enough to catch flies. Hermione was fairly certain she saw something akin to fear flash across the professor’s face. The second was the clapping, which was far less enthusiastic than the other first years had gotten, hesitant even. The third was the whispers. The closer she got to the Slytherin table the louder they got.

“Granger? I don’t know that name – You don’t think she’s a mudblood, do you? – Of course not! Mudbloods don’t get sorted into Slytherin! Everyone knows that – Maybe she’s from America? Or France? – She could always be a half blood – Oh, she might be a bastard! Those do turn up every once in a while.”

Hermione didn’t know half the terms the Slytherins were using. She had never even heard of a half blood. Never mind, a mudblood. Quietly she sat down at the end of the Slytherin table, with the other first names. She kept her head down and inspected the empty plate before her in favor of introducing herself to the other Slytherins.

Professor McGonagall for all her surprise did not miss a beat, continuing to call out the names on her scroll. Though it was only when the professor reached a name she recognized that she looked up.

“Malfoy, Draco!” Unlike most first years, who trembled and timidly moved forward, the pale, platinum haired boy from the train swaggered towards the stool, smirking all the way. The hat barely even touched his head before it cried out: “SLYTHERIN!”

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about being in the same house as that boy. On one hand he was the most interesting boy she had met so far – She longed to ask him if he descended from some magical creature – and in the confinement of her mind she could admit the prettiest as well. On the other hand, though, he had been quite rude to her. It didn’t look like they were going to be fast friends, which was a rather big problem as from the way he was smirking at all the other Slytherin first years he was quite popular already. Being liked by popular people was a rather easy way to make friends she had noticed and being disliked by them a rather easy way to get bullied.

Thus, Hermione decided then and there that her feelings on the matter were hardly important; it was already done. She was simply going to have to make nice with him. How to do that though?

“Potter, Harry!” Hermione got distracted as the resident celebrity made the entire Hall quiet with just the call of his name. She was quite grateful when he became the subject of the hissed whispers which rose up around her instead of herself.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

The boy with the unruly black hair put the hat on even more hesitantly than most. Hermione narrowed her eyes as he did. Was his mouth moving? It was! He was whispering something. But what? Hermione knew she should've just checked that  lip reading how to book out behind her parents back.

The hat took his time with the Boy Who Lived as well, though it still made its decision far quicker than he had with her. Eventually though it cried out: “GRYFFINDOR!”

The entire Gryffindor table burst out in cheers, some of them hauntingly chanting at the other tables: “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

Honestly, it was all rather childish.

After that entire debacle though the rest of the sorting went off without a hitch. The rude redhead from the train was sorted into Gryffindor and Slytherin house got another two members. Dumbledore said a few words that she hoped were some sort of wizarding joke she didn't get, because the only other alternative she could think of was him being completely bonkers.

_For God's sake, who tells their students that they'll die a horrible death if they go into a forbidden area. Just say: ‘The corridor on the third floor is off limits.’_

When he was done though, the most extensive buffet Hermione had ever seen appeared on the table in front of her. The feast had begun, and Hermione heard the first years begin to chatter pleasantly with each other. Looking at them, all so comfortable together, Hermione had no doubt they had all known each other for years. Disadvantage number 1.

However, Hermione had planned for this scenario as well. 1# Locate the leader of the group – That was easy. Draco Malfoy stood out for more than his coloring. He took immediate control of the conversation and each first year waited patiently for him to finish talking, most nodding enthusiastically as he did. 2# Listen interestedly at what he/she has to say and make it obvious that you are doing so – He was holding an entire monologue about how much of an idiot Harry Potter was for choosing to spend time with the redheaded riffraff of the wizarding world. 3# Add something interesting to the conversation – “You know,” said Hermione loudly, “he had dirt on his nose during the entire train ride. Didn’t even seem to notice.”

Every head snapped towards her, except the platinum one. It made Hermione want to cast her eyes down and shrink into herself, but she refused to cave to such childish desires. Instead she kept her nose firmly in the air, as all the other Slytherins were doing, and waited for the platinum boy to look at her. When he did it was through narrowed eyes. He looked her up and down as if he was deciding whether she was worthy of his attention or if he would order any one of his cronies to push her of the bench. It sent a shiver down Hermione’s back.

Whatever criteria he had she must have met them because he barked a laugh. “Well, what can you expect. My father said his family lives in a hovel. Barbarians the lot of them.”

The girls giggled. The boys snickered. One of them, a pug faced girl, even dared to comment: “Even more barbaric than muggles, they are!”

Hermione barely had the time to frown at that, before she was under fire again.

“You’re that girl from the train, aren’t you?” said the blond boy. It was strange. His voice couldn’t ever be mistaken for kind, too harsh and blunt for that. However, Hermione couldn’t classify it as rude either. It was a happy medium between the two that she had never achieved in any of her conversations. Still she attempted to replicate it now.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, as I said,” the blond boy somehow managed to stick his nose even higher into the air, “my name is Draco, Draco Malfoy.”

“Hermione Granger pleased to meet you.” She managed to keep her tone entirely gracious even though her skin was crawling. Every first year had their narrowed eyes pointed firmly on her, scrutinizing every movement she made.

“So where are you from, Hermione?” demanded Draco, demanded because despite his eerily polite tone his voice held the undertone of a command that could not be mistaken.

“Oh, I’m from London and you?”

Hermione was answering on autopilot. This conversation felt like walking across a canyon on a silken robe, with a hundred spectators on either side booing her. She was being questioned. Her value was being determined. One slip-up would cause her to fall and lay on the ground, bones broken, for the next seven years of her life

“Wiltshire. Have I met you before?” Draco squinted ever so slightly, cocking his head in a birdlike manner that was entirely faked. Even though his eyes were the color of a cloudy sky, they reminded her of a cobra, piercing, out to trap her, hypnotize her and learn what made her tick. Despite not wanting to look weak, she didn’t dare look straight into them.

“I don’t believe so.” Another wrong answer. The boy tried to catch her gaze it seemed, but she felt even less confident to meet them than before.

“No?” asked the blond boy softly, angelically, “What off our parents, have they met?”

“I’ve never heard them mentioned.” Hermione was starting to feel sick to her stomach. For the first time in her life she was failing a test.

“I see,” said Draco, the words sounding dismissive and damning.

Then without another glance he turned back to the other first years and continued monologuing before his enchanted audience. Only the pug faced girl besides him spared her another thought and just to whisper to the girl next to her: “Probably a bastard.”

Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks so hard she tasted blood. She couldn’t lose her temper. She had been dismissed, but not to the point of being considered the school freak. Lashing out had been what had gotten her that title to begin with on her old school and Hermione had long since decided that this one would be different. So, she took a bite from her food, payed further attention to what the blond boy was saying without commenting this time and regrouped.

~●~

Hermione stayed quiet throughout the rest of dinner and even when the prefects started leading her and the other first years through the castle. At first it was dejectedness and caution that kept her quiet, but soon this turned into awe. There was magic everywhere, in the portraits that were chatting happily with each other, in the stairs that moved every few minutes, in the ghosts that soared over their heads without a care in the world. Even the children who had grown up in wizarding – as pretty much every child in her year seemed to have – were astonished. Though some, like Draco Malfoy, tried to hide it.

The prefect led them all the way to the depths of the castle, the dungeons. The farther they descended the more the cold started to make its presence known. By the time they reached the entrance – a bare stretch of wall that had Hermione blinking at it as she tried to figure out why they had stopped in front of it – the cold had become an unwanted companion to all first years, stroking their shivering backs with vindictive pleasure.

“Basilisk,” the prefect said, and the bricks turned, moved like those in the Leaky Cauldron, forming a doorway.

The prefect walked in without a second thought and Draco Malfoy was hot on his heels with his cronies following closely behind him. Hermione, deciding she would not stay with the unimportant Slytherins any longer, pushed her awe down and walked through the doorway.

The room in front of her was like nothing she had ever seen before. It looked like a shipwreck into which the water had never managed to get. Water pushed against the glass windows of the room, with all sorts of fish passing them and Hermione wondered if she would ever see the giant squid she had read about swishing past. Green lights finished the mysterious, even eerie, look of the room. Standing in that room, ordinary, bushy haired Hermione felt completely and utterly out of place.

“Congratulations,” the male Slytherin perfect, a tall, brown haired boy with an impassive face, spoke loud and clear, effortlessly drawing the first years’ attention back to him, “you’ve made it into Slytherin, the noblest house of all four. You will be expected to bring honor to this title. You will be expected to act like a Slytherin at all times, proud, ambitious and cunning. That is what we stand for, that is what we expect. Any behavior not in line with these values will be corrected.”

Both prefects stood tall and proud, completely unbothered by the cold. So, Hermione straightened her back and decided to treat the chill hanging in the room like an old friend, allowing it to seep into her bones without flinching. If there wasn’t any room for her, Hermione would simply have to make some.

The honey blond prefect standing beside her male counterpart continued on the speech without missing a beat: “We are the most powerful house in Hogwarts. However, with great power comes great envy. You will be hated by all of them. Gryffindors in particular will be nasty. Therefor we Slytherins stick together, always. If you quarrel with each other you will do so in here. Outside you have each other’s backs. No matter how much you hate each other, if another Slytherin is in need you help them. Is this clear?”

Her peers nodded, and Hermione joined in enthusiastically. Even if she didn’t manage to make friends immediately she wouldn’t be thrown to the lions either – pun completely unintended. She had housemates to protect her now.

When the prefects we’re satisfied with the number of nods, the tall boy took over again: “Good. Now, as you all know, professor Snape is our Head of House. While you are expected to come to us first if you have a problem, he is an option as well if your problem is of the more serious variety. Of course, I wouldn’t bother him with nonsense. You’ll soon find out he has no patience for it.”

“Here are your timetables,” said the honey blond girl, handing out scraps of parchment, “You’ll be expected down in the common room at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow, so we can lead you to breakfast. Afterwards we will take you to your first class of the day. Mind we’ll only guide you on your first day. From then on it’ll be your responsibility to be on time.”

Hermione almost ripped her timetable out of the prefect’s hands when she passed her. Her first class of the day would be Transfigurations with the Ravenclaws, followed by Potions with the Gryffindors. Then she would have some time during lunch to revise everything she’d seen during those classes only to get on with the day in the form of Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, both with the Huffelpuffs.

“The boys can follow me to their dormitories, girls will follow Gemma.” And with that both prefects turned in opposite directions, each having half the first years scurrying behind them.

Just as Hermione was leaving the common room, she heard the male prefect saying: “Oh and boys, I wouldn’t advise trying to get to the girls, you might find a hex instead.”

When the girls arrived at their dormitory, it was completely ready. The open room had exactly five beds with a set of suitcases neatly placed besides each. It made Hermione wonder how they had known how many girls Slytherin would have this year and how they had moved their luggage so quickly. Had they truly done all of this during dinner alone? Sure, they had magic, but this still must have taken quite the effort.

Her peers seemed anything but astonished though. In fact, everyone but her ran off immediately to their beds, albeit each in an entirely different manner. A heavy-set girl was the only one who actually ran, jumping onto the bed in a way more befitting of a boy. The pug faced girl who’d called her a bastard before marched through the room as if she owned the entire castle. A girl with golden hair walked off with the grace and demure of a princess. While another girl with a collection of freckles on her nose shuffled to hers with her head bend down.

Despite having preferred to follow the princess’ example, it was the freckled one Hermione followed. She shuffled to her bed, biting her lip as she tried to think of something interesting to say to the girls she would be spending the next six years with.

She had just made it to her bed when a shrill voice interrupted her thoughts. “So, you’re a bastard, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione turned around. It was the pug faced one that had spoken. She was laying on her stomach on the bed in front of mine. Her hair, which reached just below her chin, was the exact color of mud that had lain in the sun for too long and she was wearing a nasty sneer. Hermione disliked her already.

“Oh,” continued pug face, checking her nails, seeing as Hermione was apparently not worthy of being looked at while the girl insulted her, “are you a half blood, then?”

“What?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at pug face. There was that word again, ‘halfblood’. Hermione might not have known what it meant but she knew enough to tell that it wasn’t a compliment and deny it, fervidly: “No!”

“Then you’re a bastard,” announced pug face happily, “Who’s your daddy? Or don’t you know? I suppose some wizards obliviate their mistresses when they get knocked up. Or does your mother know, but does she just not tell you? Or –”

Hermione supposed this was the time in the conversation that she told these girls that she was not a bastard, or a halfblood, whatever that was, but simply a muggleborn. Except she didn’t. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her not to. So, she procrastinated.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – ”

“Pansy!” the blond girl scolded, “Just let the girl be.”

“Oh, fine,” grumbled pug face, or Pansy if you want to be politically correct, as she sat up, muttering under her breath: “Spoilsport.”

“Don’t pay her any mind,” said the blond, who had taken up residence in the bed besides mine.

Blondie was the kind off beautiful that was just plain annoying. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, her features soft and her golden hair shiny. Not to mention, there was an elegance to the way she moved that was simply off putting on an eleven-year-old. To be honest, Hermione disliked her on sight alone, but that was unfair. The girl was coming to her defense after all.

“She’s an insufferable gossip,” continued blondie kindly, “And just so you know, we don’t care if you’re a bastard. Honestly, my father probably has more of those than I have fingers. And if you’re halfblood, that’s okay too. I mean, it’s not optimal, but Tracy is one too.”

“I’m not a halfblood,” I told her with forced kindness, “but thanks. Still I’d rather not talk about it.”

Blondie nodded sympathetically, but I could practically see the word flashing behind her eyes: ‘Bastard.’

“I’m Daphne Greengrass by the way,” said the girl, sticking her hand out.

_Beggars can’t be choosers, Hermione._

Hermione took the hand, smiling hopefully a bit more convincingly now. “Hermione Granger.”


End file.
